


Veritas vos Liberabit

by queenofthedagger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And I mean Really Slow Burn, Don't copy to another site, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Grey Harry Potter, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Minor or background Relationships - Freeform, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Politics, Powerful Harry, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Regulus Black Lives, Regulus Black raises Harry Potter, Sane Tom Riddle, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry Potter, Worldbuilding, some flings before
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-05-13 13:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 42
Words: 235,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19252408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthedagger/pseuds/queenofthedagger
Summary: Hadrian'Harry'Potter-Black turns out very differently when he's raised by Death and, eventually, Regulus Black. He's still not all that keen on his questionable fame, but neither is he on defeating Voldemort after he learns a great many things Dumbledore would have preferred him not to know - or only much,muchlater. Then there's a whole bunch of Blacks to deal with, Slytherins not sure what they're supposed to think of him, a godfather innocently in Azkaban, a manipulative diary to talk to - it doesn't get less busy over the years, but he rather enjoys crossing the plans of both Dumbledore and Voldemort whenever he can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!  
> A few things at the start: If you notice missing tags, please let me know! Also, if you notice SpaG-mistakes, I'd like to know as well, though I'd appreciate it if you're kind about it. :)  
> Then: when I say slow burn, I mean slow burn - this AU starts out when Harry is four, and it will take a lot of time until we get to the main pairing. There will be underage/underage-pairings (including Harry, just a warning!), but not before 4th year, and it will also take some time. Last but not least, this will stray from Canon in many regards, and that includes the characterisation. I like to explore how differently Harry could have turned out, so if you're looking for our beloved, hot-headed, hero-complex Gryffindor, this is not the right place. :) 
> 
> All that being said, I hope you'll enjoy and if you do, I'm happy to hear about it! Updates will be ~ once a week. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Death is not really what one would call a nice or friendly being, nor does he care all that much about the mortal world in general. Of course, there are exceptions, when there are huge wars going on and the workload gets a bit much, or when magical mortals try their hand in immortality. Death considers it to be insulting – mere mortals thinking they can outsmart him without expecting any consequences.

But everything gets kind of monotonous after eons, which is why things like the Deathly Hallows came into existence, or why there is the rare event of Death involving himself in the mortal realm.

He does it infrequently enough that stories of these occurrences are considered to be mere fairy tales amongst the humans, and only a few think of it as a real possibility, but that suits him just fine. If witches and wizard realised that there was an actual chance of gaining Death’s favour or Fate’s interest they would be falling all over themselves, creating a whole lot of silly rituals and other things that would only lead to chaos, or worse, take the fun out of it.

This time though it’s not as much out of boredom as it is due to a certain annoyance that he and Fate struck up a deal. Many might even call it anger, but for an entity like him, that is a bit of a strong emotion.

First, there is one Tom Riddle, by now better known as Voldemort. Not only did the fool create more than one Horcrux, but now Death has to suffer the secondary consequences for that idiocy in the form of an increased workload and a bunch of souls that are whining about their innocence. Not that he minds the dying all that much or has some form of attachment to the mortals, but the current magical war in Britain is kind of pointless and he doesn’t take well to suffer for mortal idiocy.

Not that Tom Riddle is the only person responsible, which leads to the second person causing their current annoyance, one Albus Dumbledore. Both of them don’t seem to understand that magic is all about balance. Now, Death honestly doesn’t care all that much about causes and goals, but the man is manipulative to the bone and displays a bit too much interest in things that aren’t meant for him, namely the Deathly Hallows or the sacrificing of other people for his goals.

The only silver lining is that, for the first time in centuries, Fate wholeheartedly agrees with him. She had some plans for Tom Riddle which got messed up by Tom’s insanity and Dumbledore’s meddling, and right now Dumbledore is in the process of making plans for a boy who isn’t even born yet, for whom she has plans that definitely don’t involve a prophecy or being the sacrificial lamb for a stupid cause.

The general problem is that Fate’s plans for mortals aren’t set in stone and it’s impossible to constantly involve herself in the mortal world to secure that everything goes as expected, so she actually rarely does. There are just too many external factors, and simply too many beings to keep a constant watch on special interests for her – not to mention the concept of free will and all that. Besides, normally things _do_ go as planned, at least mostly.

While the last few decades things already started to go off track, it’s currently coming to a head with Dumbledore drawing Tom’s attention to one of her newest favourites, who coincidentally holds Death’s interest as well, as he’s the first descendant of the Peverell line in a long while that he considers being worthy of some attention.

So, they are getting to scheme a little and decide it is time to involve themselves once again. Or to be clearer, Death is going to involve himself, because honestly, shipping souls to the afterlife is exceedingly more boring than watching over the past, present, and future. And as it is now, Hadrian Potter’s future does not look very bright, either dying at age 1 or, if he should somehow survive without their involvement, growing up alone and abused and then falling victim to the meddlesome old man, until Tom finally offs him.

Unfortunately, there are restrictions even for Fate and Death, so while the latter is able to let him live for longer than 15 months, they can't change the events that follow the fateful night of Samhain in 1981 without causing too much chaos. But at least, Hadrian Potter will not grow up completely alone and without information, so he will not be some pliable puppet for Dumbledore’s making.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the first few chapters I'll cover a lot of time, it will get more detailed later on.  
> Also, Hadrian is a very young child and so it's relatively easy for him to accept things like Death, having magic and so on. His views develop as he gets older, but I try to keep it realistic for his age.  
> Enjoy! :)

When Albus Dumbledore hears that James and Lily Potter were attacked by Voldemort in their home, but Harry Potter survived, he doesn't really know what to think. He thought they would be safe under the Fidelius for a while and didn’t think that Voldemort would get to them so quickly.

It's not really a surprise to him that Peter Pettigrew gave them away, but at least now nobody knows that Sirius Black wasn't the secret-keeper, and maybe that will make it easier to get him out of the picture as Harry’s guardian.

He doesn’t understand how the child survived though. It shouldn't be possible, and it unnerves him, especially as Voldemort appears to be gone _for now_ , and that's even more of a mystery to him. He is sure that this is not what the prophecy meant. That’s not to say that it doesn't _please_ him, because even while he needs to reorganise some of his plans now, they've just become easier – but he doesn't understand _how_ , and that makes him kind of wary of the situation.

He knows that a one-year-old couldn't really have done anything and that it's far more likely that one of his parents had something to do with it, hence his disbelief of the prophecy being fulfilled. It will help that the wizarding world will view Harry Potter as their saviour already though, as long as the boy doesn’t grow up with all of the attention and worship.

When he remembers Lily Evans’ sister and her dislike for anything magical, he decides that it might be his best shot. It might not be the best or easiest growing-up for the boy, but not only is it better if he isn’t too spoiled, it might also simply be safer, seeing that there is no other family left apart from Sirius Black – and he’d really prefer to not give Harry Potter to anyone of the Black-family. 

It does pain him that he has to put the weight of the world on the shoulders of a child, but in times of war they all have to take on responsibilities that aren’t always easy – Albus knows that better than anybody else, he thinks. While it may be hard for the boy individually, it will be better for their world as a whole.

Because if there is one thing he is sure of, it is that Tom is not gone for good, and when his plans will finally come into fruition, everything will be as it should be. Or so he thinks.

* * *

The first time Hadrian Potter notices Death’s presence, he’s four years old. He’s lying on the thin mattress in his cupboard, cradling his wrist to his chest and trying very hard to cry as silently as possible.

Dudley pushed him down the stairs earlier, and when Uncle Vernon saw the weird angle of his hand, he lectured him about seeking attention for himself, about wanting to cost the family money, trying to get out of doing his chores and that he would learn to be more careful in the future if he would have to wait it out in his cupboard, and so on, and so on.

He’s hungry, everything hurts and he doesn’t understand why he just can't make them be as nice to him as they are to Dudley.

When there’s suddenly a soft light in his cupboard and a figure in a black coat is sitting across from him, he can't really muffle his scream of terror and scrambles as far into the corner as possible. He already has experience in making himself small, but he's not so sure if that will really help him now.  
  
The weird being doesn't say anything, but after a few moments, Hadrian feels a strange sense of calmness wash over him and lifts his head in curiosity. He can't really see a face under the black hood, but as the being starts speaking in a low, gravelly voice he decides it must be a man.

"You know, I can heal that for you if you want. I can also make you stop being hungry, though unfortunately I can't really produce food for you, but the effect is the same.“ he says, and Hadrian tilts his head.

"Who are you?“ he asks, still not sure about the man, and neither convinced that he should trust him, seeing that people are rarely nice to him.

"Well, that’s a difficult question but I'm going to try being honest with you,” the man says and pauses shortly as if to think it through. “I’m Death, but I'm not here to harm you, quite the opposite really. I've been with you most of your life and watched over you, but I decided you’re old enough now to let you know that I'm here. It still would be a bit too complicated to explain exactly why. I'll do that someday in the future. For now, all you need to know is that you're not alone, even when your disgusting relatives want you to think so, and that I will look after you. Like healing your injuries, making sure you don't starve and maybe teach you some stuff if you want to.“

Hadrian is curious, to say the least, it sounds a bit too good to be true and that it is Death he is talking to doesn't even bother him much if he’s honest. He feels like his life was always a bit weird and at 4 years, something like this is relatively easy to accept.

So he nods hesitantly and holds his broken wrist out to the being, and feels a cooling sensation travel up his arm and tingle over the rest of his body until he is neither hurting nor hungry anymore. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers that he often went to bed hungry or hurting and woke up the next day feeling fine. He actually thought it was normal until Petunia started shrieking about freaks and abnormality when his bones healed overnight.

"Was it you the other times as well?“ he asks, and Death seems to incline his head.

"Yes, mostly. But see, you also have your own magic. It's not very strong yet as you’re still young, but it will get stronger every year and when you’re seven, we can start training your control of it.“

Hadrian is back to staring a bit disbelievingly because honestly, magic?! But well, apparently, he is talking to _Death_ and so he decides to go with it. "Does that mean I'm special?“

"Yes Hadrian, that does mean you’re very special. Only a few people have magic, and you’re going to be powerful one day. Not everyone is taught by Death, you know?“

Hadrian giggles a little, but yawns directly afterwards, "I like that. Do you know... do you know if my parents had magic, too?“

Death sighs and Hadrian thinks that it must be weird for him to talk about dead people, but eventually he says: “Yes they did. What do you think, I tell you a bit about what I know of them and you can try to sleep? It’s late already and now that you're healed, you should be fine.“

He nods enthusiastically, but then bites his lip and asks: "Will I see you more often, then?“ He knows that he sounds ridiculously hopeful, and Death chuckles again.

"Yes, quite a lot, I think. I will tell you a lot of stuff and keep an eye on your health as well. You can call me anytime, but when you’re around other people, I will only appear as a voice in your head. It's better if you don't tell anyone about me though. I rarely visit people, and they might not believe you and think you're going mad.“

"Nothing new about that,“ he mutters more to himself, but brightens up considerably as he asks: "So, not only makes my magic me special but that you visit me, means I'm extra-special?“

"Yes, little one, exactly.“ Death sounds kind of smug about it, too. "Now, about your parents...“

* * *

After that night, Death becomes a constant presence in Hadrian’s life, which as a result, improves drastically. He still has to do some chores, and nobody would call his relatives _nice_ , but every time they start humiliating or screaming at him, demand dangerous tasks or raise so much as a hand, the room gets freezingly cold for everyone except him.

It only takes about two weeks until he gets Dudley’s second bedroom, receives more or less regular meals and is ignored most of the time.

Apart from that, Death keeps up a running commentary throughout the day with stories, information, and sarcastic remarks, even if a lot of it goes over Hadrian’s head because honestly, he’s still a bit too young to understand even half of it. But he does have an eidetic memory and so he’s learning quickly.

At five years, he knows how to read and kind of bullies Petunia into getting him a library-card and to take him there once a week when she goes shopping.

Overall it might not be the best for his social skills, seeing that Death is the only one he actually talks to and the being is not what one would call socially adept, but it’s a long shot better than it has been before.

He even convinces them – with the help of Death freezing the room, but anyway – to not send him to primary school and let him be 'home-schooled'. It took some time to convince Death of that particular idea, but honestly, he met a bunch of the kids in the neighbourhood thanks to Dudley, and a few hours were enough to grate on his nerves.

And between the constant access to the library, his perfect memory and what Death is teaching him, he is already far ahead anyway. It helps that Death also holds little fondness for other humans and so it takes not too much to let him have his way.

Until he is seven, he mostly sticks to muggle stuff, reading, and writing, of course; math, a bit of science, history, and languages.

Well, 'learning' would be a bit exaggerated regarding languages, because that is more Death’s doing than anything else. His companion can grant him any language he wants to know overnight, but it takes a lot of adjusting for a young brain, and if he doesn't want to mix up everything, he has to wait a few months until he can receive another one.

The eidetic memory helps of course, but even if he’s smart, he _is_ still pretty young and to be honest, he doesn't mind the waiting all that much. He already knows Latin, French and Greek and according to Death, that is quite the feat for a six-year-old.

Not that he has anyone to compare to, but he really doesn't care that much. Most people are rather annoying in his opinion, regardless of them being children or adults, and he prefers to spend his time with books or stories and lectures from Death.

In the warmer months, he still tends to the garden, because he actually likes the work, and the only thing that really bothers him is that he can't start training his magic already.  
  
He has some bursts of accidental magic, the worst of yet when he was carted off to Mrs. Figg and Death informed him in an offhand comment that she’s living here to ‘keep an eye’ on him for Dumbledore. He was so angry, he made the windows in the room shatter and had all of her stuff whirling around the room. It was rather satisfying for him, even when he was completely exhausted afterwards, and she didn't understand what upset him – not that he would tell her – and is now slightly afraid of him. He quite likes it that way, since now she just leaves him alone whenever he has to go over, and even her blasted cats stay clear of him so he can read in peace.

Hadrian already knows quite a lot about the magical world, despite concentrating on the muggle part of his education. He knows about Hogwarts and its History, even stories about the Founders. He knows about his family, not only his parents but also some of his more remarkable ancestors and ties to other houses, about Gringotts and magical creatures, about witch-hunts and the distinction between purebloods, half-bloods and muggleborn, about a lot of traditions and myths and wars.

He knows about the last wizarding war and the leaders of both sides, both kind of responsible for his current living arrangements – he blames Dumbledore a lot more for it than he blames Voldemort, because even when the latter is the one who killed his parents, it is the former who kind of set him up for it.

And it was a war, and courtesy to Death, he knows rather a lot about them too. Most of it is not that appropriate for children, but Death is not what one would call a parental figure, and neither is Hadrian a typical child. Not that he claims to understand all of it, but he is rather patient and learned over the years that the meaning behind a lot of things comes in due time.

Death for his part is quite enjoying himself and has long since concluded that his prediction of Hadrian becoming a worthy descendant of the Peverell-line has proven to be correct. Of course, a lot of it is due to his influence, but even that can only go so far regarding thirst for knowledge, understanding, and intelligence.

It’s a nice change from his routines and while he still has a lot of souls to bring into the afterlife, it’s not really a stretch for him to keep up a running stream of knowledge and commentary to the boy, as well as visiting for an hour or two every other day.  
  
It helps that Hadrian is rarely seeking affection or comfort in the regular sense, and is quite content with getting rewards or praise for intellectual improvements, rather than wanting for toys or trips to the playground.

Sure, there is the occasional hug, and wasn't that a surprise, the first time Hadrian threw himself at him as soon as he appeared in his room after his cousin killed a snake Hadrian was talking to in the garden. He actually expected the boy to recoil as soon as he recognised his skeletal form and the coldness seeping through his robes, but he just clung to him for a few moments, Death carding bony fingers through his hair after realising the boy just didn't care, then took a few breaths and said: "One day, they're going to pay for all of this“, and that was that.

So, every now and then, when Hadrian is particularly upset or over-enthusiastic about something, there is a short hug, but regarding his actual age, it’s a very rare occurrence, and mostly has to do with knowledge or animals. Because while Hadrian is not really fond of other humans – not that he met any that were actually nice to him – he has a rather soft spot for animals, especially snakes, ever since he found out that he is able to talk to them.  
(This led to Death considering the Horcrux in him, but even he knew that this was a topic for a later age. He wants nothing more than to remove it, but it would be stupid without the boy knowing and so, apart from isolating the piece of Tom Riddle’s soul from the rest, he can't do much about it for now.)

The evening before Hadrian’s seventh birthday, Death arrives quite late in his room, but as expected, he is still awake and reading. As soon as he notices Death, he marks his page and sits up in his bed, excitement visible in his green eyes.

Ever since that Samhain night of the attack, they take an Avada-green shine when his emotions are higher than usual, and Death finds this to be kind of fitting to their relation. He has long since healed his eye-sight of course, not without snarking about being Death and having to heal mortals – but Hadrian knows about the underlying fondness and just laughed, remarking that he is just “special like that, and at least he doesn't have to freeze any rooms to get his relatives to get him glasses.“

Before Hadrian can go on a tangent about training his magic again, Death raises a hand and says: “Tonight you’ll receive quite the magical burst, as I already mentioned a few times. It's not only because you reach seven years of age, but also because your core finally is strong enough that I can release you from this horrible blocks Dumbledore put on you.“

Hadrian sneers at that, as well as a seven-year-old can manage to sneer at least, and after a snort Death continues: "This will pretty likely knock you out for a bit and you should rest the next few days. You will feel the change, and when your core is settled again, we will start your magical training. I will visit every evening from now on and give you some instructions, and you may practice over the day. You will likely knock yourself out a few times, but you'll learn when to take a break eventually. I think in a year, for your 8th birthday, you'll be able to control most of the basics, like levitating and summoning things, start a small fire, control some animals, throw up an instinctual shield, this kind of stuff. I'd advise you to try some things only with me present but you won’t listen anyway, so we skip that part and if you hurt yourself, you just have to wait it out, just try not to burn down the house – yet. For your next birthday, if, and only if you have this down, I'll let you go to Diagon Alley. Do we have a deal, little one?“

Hadrian grinned at him and nodded, so he produced a black notebook from his cloak and threw it to the boy. "You can write your progress down here if you want, it'll help you keep an eye on what works and what doesn't. It’s keyed so only you can open it, and if someone should be able to somehow bypass that and opens it, it'll send them directly into my realm.“

If Death had a face, he would be smirking, and Hadrian grins even wider. They both know how very unlikely it is that anyone would be able to open the book, so he obviously doesn't worry too much, and his relation to Death as a constant presence has rather desensitized the boy to people dying.

"I also blocked the wards put around the house from noticing any excessive use of magic, they will only pick up some bursts randomly that will look like accidental magic. But remember that it doesn’t mean nobody could see you when you're outside, so be careful with that.“

Hadrian nods again, and after a look at the clock, Death orders him to lie down so he can remove the blocks on him. There is one to minimize the access to his core, as well as a blood glamour to mask the resemblance to the Black family, courtesy of the blood-adoption of Sirius Black and being the grandson to Dorea Potter neé Black. Why Dumbledore deemed the glamour necessary is anyone’s guess, but Hadrian prefers to not have anything left from the old man, so it goes as well.

When the blocks fall, there’s a surge of energy in the room, Hadrian’s back arches from the bed and his breathing becomes laboured. After a few minutes, he falls unconscious and the magic in the air subsides slowly. Death sighs, knowing that this will happen again in a few hours, and after checking over the boy, leaves him for the time being. He will probably be out of it until the next evening at least, and there is not much else he can do for now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _$ Text $_ is Parseltongue.  
> Also, there won't be any more pets in the near future. Hadrian likes animals, but he won't acquire a zoo or something. Just a heads-up.

Over the next year, Hadrian trains his magic as much as possible, and as Death expected, he gets the hang of it rather quickly. For one there’s talent, but other than that, the only thing good about the magical block is that he can sense his magic more clearly than he would have otherwise since the difference simply is bigger.

This also results in a lot of overpowered experiments and some accidents, but it’s not like Death is a very sympathetic being and would stop him, or that it could be fatal for him. Summoning and levitating work out quickly, as well as freezing his relatives in place, while fires tend to get out of control a lot and shields are not really his thing.

He shows a surprising proclivity for Legilimency and, consequently, a talent for compulsions and, at least with small animals for now, for what would later be the Imperius. All in all, Death is satisfied with him and lets him 'convince' his Aunt to take him to London for his next birthday.

After some begging, Death even gives in and makes him look like he is twelve, to avoid getting recognised or having trouble with adults not wanting to sell an 8-year-old certain books. He warns him that the Goblins won't be fooled and that the trip to Gringotts is important, that he really shouldn't try getting a wand and that this is going to be a rare occurrence, but apart from that Death agrees that it’s probably a good solution.

When Hadrian finally arrives at Diagon Alley, he can't help but stare for a moment. He can sense the magic in the air and has a feeling of belonging that he otherwise only gets with Death.

After he has soaked it in as much as possible, he practically skips to Gringotts, not even bothering to smooth over the grin that splits his face.

As it is still relatively early in the day, there are only a few people in the bank, and he steps up to a Goblin at the far end. "Excuse me please, my name is Hadrian James Potter and I would like to meet my account-manager. I know you can sense that I took an ageing potion and I assure you, it is not to fool you, but for discretion-purposes.“

The Goblin examines him for a few seconds and then grins toothily, nods and says: "Please follow me. You will have to take a blood test to verify your identity.“

Hadrian just nods and follows through a lot of corridors until they arrive in front of a dark oak-door, where the creature knocks, exchanges some words in Gobbledygook and then ushers him inside.

The Goblin sitting at the desk looks a lot older and eyes him critically, but Hadrian just nods respectfully and waits. "Good Morning Mister Potter, please take a seat. I am Dragnok, the account-manager for the Potter family, and after you took a blood test, we will see what I can do for you.“

After he sits down, he takes the provided knife and cuts his thumb, letting some blood drop on the parchment that the Goblin lays before him. After a few seconds, words begin to form:

_**Name:**_ Hadrian James Potter-Black  
_**Date of Birth:**_ 31th July 1980  
_**Parents:**_ James Charlus Potter (father, deceased), Lily Potter neé Evans (mother, deceased), Sirius Orion Black (blood-adoptive father, imprisoned)  
_Magical Guardian:_ Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore

_**Houses:**_ Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter – only living descendant;  
Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black – Head of House: Sirius Orion Black (incapacitated), Lord Apparent: Regulus Arcturus Black  
Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Peverell – only living descendant  
Heir of the Established House of Gryffindor – only living descendant

_**Vaults:**_ Potter Main-Vaults: 821, 822, 823, Potter Trust-Vault: 824  
Black Trust-Vault: 473  
Peverell Main Vaults: 301, 302, 303, 304  
Gryffindor Main Vaults: 3, 161

_**Properties:**_ Potter-Manor, Wales, Potter-Cottage, Godrics Hollow  
Peverell-Castle, Scotland, Peverell-Manor, Wales  
Gryffindor-Castle, Scotland

 

For longer than Hadrian cares to admit, he can only stare. Death told him that he has some notable titles and inheritances, but as Death doesn't care all that much about these things, he had no idea about the extent, or that there apparently is at least a Head of House to the Black family.

"Well, you are who you said you are, which is good for you. You can only claim your titles as heir when you reach 11 years, but you can access your Potter trust vault already, as well as the Black trust vault, but for the latter I would recommend getting in contact with the current Head of House,“ Dragnok breaks him out of his stupor, and he nods slowly.

Then he remembers the part of 'magical guardian’ and asks: "How is it that Albus Dumbledore is my magical guardian?“

The Goblin sneers and says: "After the death of your parents, he prompted their will to be sealed, and as Sirius Black, the only one with a claim to your guardianship, is in Azkaban, he got appointed rather easily. This could only be challenged if Regulus Black claims guardianship or Sirius Black is proven to be innocent. You should know that he never received a trial and normally, would he be guilty - regardless of a trial happening or not-, magic would deny him right of guardianship. That didn't happen, but we Goblins don't really involve ourselves with these kinds of things. As the Heir of Noble and Ancient Houses you can request a trial when you reach 11 years, or the current Lord Black could. But this would only be useful with actual evidence of his innocence, which is probably the reason Lord Black didn't do so.“

Hadrian nods again and decides to think about all of this later, as it is a lot to take in. He has no idea what comes with all these titles and has an inkling that Death won't be much help either. He adds the topic to his mental list for the bookshop and asks the Goblin to visit his Potter trust vault.

When he reveals that he has never seen his key there are a few choice words for Dumbledore and he instantly receives a new one, which renders the current one useless. After acquiring a bottomless money-pouch and visiting his vault, he steps out of the bank with more questions than before but pushes them to the back of his mind and makes his way over to a store for bags and trunks.

After some thinking, he decides to get a multi-department trunk with a library that holds up to 2500 books, a compartment for potion ingredients and 3 others he can use as he wants. It’s shrinkable and has a built-in featherlight-charm. He also gets a book bag with an undetectable extension charm and then makes his way to the bookstore.

There he gets completely lost for a few hours, emerging with around 30 books on nearly every topic he gets his hands on. From history, traditions and pureblood customs over potions and herbology to transfiguration, charms, and curses, which earns him a lot of curious glances from the owner. Thankfully, the man chooses not to comment, and after he stored everything in his trunk, he goes to get some lunch.

He only has another hour left before Petunia will pick him up again and ponders if he should go to the Apothecary or the Magical Menagerie, but in the end chooses the latter, as he wants to get an owl. There won’t be much of a chance for him to try out any potions anyway, and he probably will contact the current Lord Black Dragnok mentioned.

He doesn't think that the man wants to claim guardianship, and he himself isn't sure if he would want him to. His current arrangement with the Dursleys fits his needs after all. But he would prefer to learn a bit more about the family, pureblood customs, and maybe sort out his duties as the heir. He doesn’t know if the man even knows about him, but it seems only proper to at least try to get in contact.

Apart from that, he collected a lot of owl-order catalogues on his way through the alley, so everything he didn't get done today can be ordered this way.

Satisfied with his reasoning he pays for his lunch and makes his way over to the Magical Menagerie. The shop is dusty and dark, and before he can even close the door behind himself, a black Raven takes flight from a perch nearby, crows, and lands on his shoulder.

Startled, he lifts his hand hesitantly and softly strokes his feathers. "Hey there, pretty. I was actually looking for an owl, but you seem to have made that decision for me, haven't you?“

The bird crows again and nuzzles his head against the side of his face. Hadrian hears Death chuckle in his head and sighs, accepting his fate without much resistance. A raven seems kind of fitting anyway, now that he thinks about it.

As there’s currently no shop keeper to be seen he strolls through the aisles, looking at owls, kneazles and a few toads when an annoyed voice reaches his ears, that comes from the back of the shop.

_$Stupid humans, keeping me in the dark and only ever giving me tiny mice. Who do they think they are, keeping me in a cage? I can smell their fear of me and still they think themselves better$._

Intrigued, Hadrian follows the sound and finds a big glass tank in the darkest corner, containing a huge snake that is coiled around herself. She appears to be huge and has dark grey scales with intricate black patterns down her back, and black eyes that have a thin red circle around the pupils.

_$Hello beautiful. I'm sorry the humans here treat you badly,$_ he hisses, and she instantly lifts her head to stare at him.

_$Speaker! Will you get me out of here?! I never met a human that was able to understand me.$_

He bites his bottom lip and tilts his head, thinking. The snake really is beautiful, and he wanted one for some time now, but he’s not so sure about her size and what to do with her when he finally goes to Hogwarts. A raven is one thing, but a magical Black Mamba, as the plate under her tank labels her, is another thing entirely. He knows a bit about different snake species, and Black Mamba’s are one of the most venomous you can find – not to mention what the ‘magical’ might mean.

Death sighs in his head and says: "I think she wants to bond with you, and as a familiar, you would be allowed to bring her. You can shrink her by laying your hand on her and saying “Shrink“ in Parseltongue, then she should be around 20 inches.“

Hadrian grins and says to the snake: _$Well, if you want to you can come with me, but I would have to shrink you when there are other humans. And you need to promise not to bite anyone without reason.$_

She seems to think about this for a little, then nods her head. _$If you give me lots of rats and a bird from time to time, I can do that.$_

_$Fair enough, as long as it’s not this bird here, alright? Do you have a name?$_

_$No little Speaker, I don't think I have.$_

_$Well then, I’m Hadrian. What do you think of Atana? It's derived from Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, strategy, war, and art. I think it is quite fitting for you.$_

_$A worthy name, little speaker. Now, get me out of here please.$_

Wonderful, a demanding snake, just what he needs next to Death and a raven, he thinks fondly. _$Give me a moment to arrange things with the owner of this shop, then we will leave, alright?§_

The only answer is more insults about stupid humans and their shops, and he decides to leave her to it.

"And what about a name for you? While we're at Greek mythology, what do you think about Thanatos? It quite fits your symbolism, don't you think?“ he asks the raven, who was surprisingly content in the face of the snake. He crows again and nuzzles Hadrian’s hair, so he supposes the name is acceptable.

When he arrives at the front of the shop, a harried-looking man greets him absently, until he notices the bird on his shoulder and only stares for a few seconds. "Well, that’s a surprise, normally that one claws everyone’s eyes out.“

Hadrian just shrugs, "I would also like to get the Black Mamba in the back of your shop, and some snacks for both of them, as well as a perch for the bird.“

"A-Are you sure? That beast of a snake? Don't you prefer a kneazle maybe?“

He just raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, slowly getting annoyed at being questioned and pulls out his money-pouch. "Just what I said. I can get the snake myself while you're collecting the rest. Just tell me what I owe you.“

After some more staring, the owner says: “That will be 135 Galleons and 23 Sickles,“ so Hadrian pays, tells Thanatos the address of the Dursleys and after letting him out, gets to collect the snake. After confirming again that she’s fine with it, he shrinks her as Death told him to and lets her coil around his neck, puts the other items into his trunk and leaves a baffled shop-owner behind.

More than satisfied with his day he leaves the alley and meets Petunia at the other side of the Leaky Cauldron, spending the car-ride home with one of his new books on pureblood customs.


	4. Chapter 4

It's nearly the end of August when Regulus Black wakes up to insistent tapping on the window. It takes him some time to realise that he fell asleep in the library again and that the tapping on the window is not accompanied by the hooting of an owl but crowing. He furrows his brows, opens the window with a flick of his wand and watches the big raven land on the back of the armchair he’s sitting in, sticking out his leg with a letter.

He's pretty sure he doesn't know anyone who owns a raven and is slightly apprehensive, but he carefully unties the letter and tells the bird: "There are owl-treats near the window if you want some or at least some water.“

He runs some diagnostic charms over the envelope to be safe, but everything comes back clean so he pulls out the parchment.

_Dear Lord Black,_

_my name is Hadrian James Potter-Black, and I recently learned that I am the Heir of the  Ancient and Most Noble House of Black because I was blood-adopted after birth by Sirius O. Black._  
_I don't know if you knew about this and I don't expect you to, but my account manager at Gringotts informed me about a trust vault from your family and that it would be best to contact you, as the current Head of House._  
_Now, to me, the money is not all that important as I also have my Potter trust vault, and if you would prefer to not have any contact with me or to cancel the funds, that’s completely fine and I would understand._  
_But if you agree to keep me as your heir, I would like to know what this entails, if there are certain requirements or duties and how to handle the image of your house when I start Hogwarts, as I would not want to cause any problems._  
_As for now, I can only rely on a few books I bought when I first visited Diagon Alley a few weeks ago, and apart from a general overview of pureblood customs and traditions, they’re not all that helpful._  
_I would be thankful if you let me know about your decision, and if you decide to answer me, please do so with Thanatos. I’m not sure if other birds are able to reach me._ _  
_(If not, you can of course just let Gringotts know, and I'm sure my account manager will inform me the next time I am able to visit.)__

_Respectfully,_

_Hadrian J. Potter-Black_

_Heir to the Noble and Most Noble House of Potter_  
_Heir to the Noble and Most Noble House of Black_  
_Heir to the Noble and Most Noble House of Peverell_ _  
_Heir of the Established House of Gryffindor__

Regulus stares at the letter for a long while, and then reads it a second and a third time, not even beginning to grasp all the thoughts and feelings racing through him. Of course, he knew that Hadrian was the heir to the Black family, but he never gave it much thought. His title as Lord Black doesn't mean all that much to him besides the formality and he tries to think as little as possible about anything that has to do with his brother. He honestly expected the boy to just ignore and deny any and all ties to the family.

He didn't even know that Sirius had adopted him, instead, he assumed that being named as godfather was enough for him to name Hadrian as his heir. The whole thing always made little sense to him after Sirius betrayed the Potters, but to him, the trust vault felt like some kind of unworthy compensation for the part his family played in the loss of the child, and so he left it at that.

How old is the boy now? 7 or 8? And what does he mean, his _first_ trip to Diagon Alley a few weeks ago? Surely he lives with a wizarding family that at least would be able to tell him the basics about customs? He has to, the letter sounds way too formal to be written by a child. But what wizarding family would want to give up a Black trust vault? What child would?

With all the titles the boy apparently inherited, in the grand scheme of things it probably doesn't matter that much, but none of the other families have any adult descendants that are still alive, so shouldn't there be a hint to the family he actually lives with? And why would other owls not reach him? Why would Harry – or apparently Hadrian – Potter want to contact him of all people, no wizarding family of the Light would encourage that, would they?

While he was never convicted as a Death Eater he’s still a Black, and that generally tells everybody with at least a hint of knowledge of the war everything they'd want to know. But it looks like Hadrian _doesn't_ know anything about the Blacks, and has nobody to tell him either, even if that makes absolutely no sense.

Sure, the boy is never seen in the wizarding world since Voldemort’s downfall, but most people think that he's simply home-schooled or abroad, at least that’s what Dumbledore lets everyone believe.

Regulus sighs and leans his head on his hand, absently staring at the raven that still sits by the window. "A raven named Thanatos, huh? How fitting for the heir of the House of Black.“ The bird crows and ruffles his feathers that shine slightly blue in the sunlight, and Regulus smiles a little.

He wonders how the name came to be, as it seems a bit morbid for an 8-year-old and decides that he is going to answer. He simply has too many questions, and if the boy really wants to know about the family, he would gladly answer some questions in return. Not that he would expect anything from him, seeing as the current image of the Black-family is not all that nice outside of pureblood circles, but that should probably be the decision of his guardians.

After calling Kreacher for coffee, he summons some Parchment and writes his answer.

_Dear Hadrian,_

_I was surprised to hear from you, but it was a good one.  
I’m aware that you are the heir to the House of Black and definitely don’t want to cancel your trust vault. I just didn't expect you to have an interest in any connection to this family, and you still don't have to, even with keeping the vault._  
_But if you would still like to know a bit more anyway, I would be glad to share._ _  
_Maybe you and your guardians would like to meet me at the Leaky Cauldron on the 2__ nd of September for Lunch? If you'd prefer another date, just let me know. Weekends work best for me. 

_Respectfully,_

_Regulus A. Black_ _  
_Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black__

He checks the letter over again and walks to the beautiful bird. "You can take that back to him, right?“ and ties it to his leg. After getting an affectionate nip to his finger in confirmation, the raven takes flight and Regulus stares after him, a bit overwhelmed with the happenings of the morning.

 

After he got a response the next day that the 2nd of September is fine, the date comes sooner than expected, and so Regulus arrives at lunchtime at the Leaky Cauldron, slightly apprehensive. Not because of the boy, but he really doesn't know what to expect from his guardians and he just hopes that there won't be any outright insults to him or about Sirius.

The pub is blessedly empty, and after scanning the room and not seeing anyone who could fit whom he’s looking for, he steps to the bar and orders a coffee. While he's paying, the door to Muggle London opens, and Regulus can do nothing but stare at the boy that comes in.

He's a bit taller than is normal for his age and wears black robes with dark green embroideries at the seams. His hair is jet-black and curly, reaching to his shoulders, and his facial structure with high, sharp cheekbones is so unmistakable _Black_ that he really could be Sirius’ son. The only real difference is in the bright, green eyes, which vaguely remember him of Lily Potter, and which stand out even over the distance between them. All in all, he looks more like a Black than a Potter.

Said eyes widen slightly as they fall on him, probably noticing the resemblance as well, but the boy seems to get over it quickly as he makes his way over to him.

Regulus shakes himself out of his stupor and smiles at him. "Hello, I'm Regulus Black, and you must be Hadrian, right? You can call me Regulus if you want.“

"Call me Hadrian, then,“ the child smiles back at him and gestures to the tables. “Should we sit down?“

"What about your guardians?“ he asks, just realising that the boy is still alone.

"Let me get something to drink and I explain if that's alright?“

Regulus nods, and after Hadrian paid for his Orange juice he follows him to a boot in the back of the pub.

"I probably should have told you this in the letter after you asked to meet me, but I kind of forgot. I'm living with a Muggle family, the sister of my mother, her husband, and son to be more specific, and they wouldn't understand what this is about anyway, so my aunt just brought me to London and will pick me up again later,“ he explains, like it's the most normal thing for an 8-year-old boy to meet alone with someone he doesn't know anything about.

"Well, shouldn't they at least make sure that you're fine with me? I mean, you're quite famous in this world and actually don't know anything about me...“ he trails off, not sure how he should explain this without sounding threatening.

Hadrian just shrugs. "It's not as if they care all that much about what happens to me. They don't like me, or anything that has to do with magic for that matter, and if I had to make them come with me, they'd probably complain the whole time anyway.” He hesitates for a moment, fiddling with the glass in front of him. “As for not knowing anything about you, that is true, but we're in a public space, I'm your heir which counts probably more for you than the blood relation counts for my relatives, and if I really misjudged, Atana has you dead faster than you can get to your wand.“ At the last comment, the head of a dark-grey snake pokes out of his collar and looks at Regulus, while Hadrian just smirks a little and takes a sip from his juice.

He doesn't know what to think, there are so many aspects of this statement that dumbfound him, starting with Muggle relatives, the nonchalant way Hadrian talks about their dislike for him, to the fact that he has a snake around his neck. It's all a bit much to take in.

Hadrian seems to take his silence the wrong way because he sighs, sits up a bit straighter and says: "Don't worry, I'm not telling you this to receive any pity, I don't expect or want you to change anything about my living condition, and to be perfectly honest, I'm content as it is.” He holds eye contact through saying this, and his eyes shine brightly, remembering Regulus uncomfortably of the Killing Curse.

“They're afraid of my magic, so they leave me alone, I leave them alone, and if it's necessary I let Atana bully them into driving me to London,” he continues, ignorant to Regulus growing discomfort and worry at what he’s hearing. “Apart from that, I do what I want, keep out of their way, and in return, I get a room and three meals a day. It's a nice arrangement and I'm really only here to maybe gain some knowledge about my status as the Black heir, so don't worry.“

"You... you know that's not normal, right? And I honestly wasn't worried about you tricking me or something, it's just -“ he stops, tilting his head a little and thinking how to word this without offending Hadrian, because he’s still a bit overwhelmed with an 8-year old child speaking like an adult, or expressing contentment about being left alone by his family.

"I think what I want to say is, that the whole wizarding world believes that you're living with a wizarding family, safe and content and cared for. When I received your letter I honestly thought it was probably written by one of your guardians, because you really don't sound like a child of your age, and you can take that as a compliment.“ He grins a little and continues, “I'm sure if you'd inform your magical guardian about your living situation there would be a solution – and apart from that, no offense, your snake is quite pretty, but probably not the only thing you should have as protection.“

Hadrian laughs at that, and it sounds too bitter for a child of his age and shakes his head. "I know it's not normal but believe me that it's the best I can get. For the first part, my magical guardian is Albus Dumbledore, who is also the one that put me there in the first place, knowing what my relatives think about magic. If my own magic wouldn't have protected me from an early age on, I would still sleep in a cupboard under the stairs, do chores from dawn 'till dusk like a house-elf, and maybe get three meals a week. And for my snake...“

He stops, puts his hand on the snake and hisses something under his breath, which throws Regulus more than anything he said before, which is really saying something. Because he knows what that is, knows Parseltongue when he hears it and he watches disbelievingly as the previously maybe 20 inches long snake grows around Hadrian’s neck until she’s at least 10 feet long, looking at him with an expression that can only be described as smug.

A laugh escapes Regulus, because this whole situation is so incredibly absurd and this child is nothing like he expected, hell Hadrian is nothing like _anyone_ in the wizarding world expects him to be, and after his short remark about Dumbledore he concludes this to be mainly the fault of said man, who expects to meet his ‘Golden Boy’ in 3 years when he starts Hogwarts. It's kind of refreshing and hilarious and Regulus can’t stop laughing for nearly a minute, while Hadrian watches him with obvious amusement and pets his snake, which is near twice as big as the boy.

After finally calming down and feeling a lot better, Regulus says: "You're quite the amazing child, aren't you? Probably got a bit too much of the infamous Black-madness when Sirius adopted you, but it somewhat suits you.”

He takes a deep breath and continues more seriously: “I'm sorry that your living situation is shit, and I'm even more sorry that your magical guardian is Albus Dumbledore of all people. I know some things about dysfunctional families and I'm not sure yet how, but I'll help you out a bit. I know that's not what you came here for, but in some obscure way we're related, and if there is anything that we Blacks know about, it's fucked-up family having each other’s back. And no Black sleeps in a cupboard or does chores, so don't even bother arguing with me.“ he adds, scowling because while he likes the surprise Hadrian presents, he didn't forget about the first part.

Now it's Hadrian’s turn to look dumbfounded and to eye him sceptically, until he sighs and looks to the side. It's not that big of a surprise to Regulus. After living with his relatives for most of his life, and considering the relatively cold and aloof attitude he presents, there are probably little to no positive experiences with adults in his life, and they don't know each other for more than 30 minutes.

Regulus believed him when he said that he doesn't expect anything from him, even that he only came here for the gain of knowledge because with the way he talks, he appears to be someone who reads a lot. But if there is one thing he can't stand its abuse and neglect of children, not only because of his own experiences.

And from what little he's seen, he really likes him, so unlike other children of that age, and honestly, what kind of guardian is Dumbledore that this has gone on for the past 7 years? Did he never check on him?

"Look – I know we don't know each other, and this is all probably a bit too much for a first meeting. I'm not saying you should move in with me or that you suddenly have to see me as any kind of authority figure because I feel like that wouldn't work for neither you nor me anyway.” He wrinkles his nose slightly and looks to the side for a moment before he continues. This is all going so differently from what he expected.

“But I also know that as my heir, I'd get guardianship of you very easily, especially since Dumbledore seems to be neglecting his duties spectacularly. I'm just offering you that we could maybe meet once a week or something for the time being, I could pay your relatives a nice little visit, and if we continue to get along we can talk about the whole guardianship thing again in a year or two, at least before you go to Hogwarts.” He stumbles a little over the last few words because he wasn’t even sure if he would say this until he just did, which in itself is such a rare thing for him. Well, in for a Knut…

“Also, I'm not going to take you to the zoo or something like that, but I can tell you more about the family, our customs and traditions, stuff like that. And if at any time you don't feel comfortable with that anymore, or you decide in the end that you don't want anything to do with the Black family, then that’s still fine. You can even let your snake in her original size if it makes you feel better, I don't really care as long as she doesn't bite me.“

Hadrian looks way less doubtful after this long speech, and maybe even a little hopeful and says: "Yeah okay, I think I'd like that. Now, tell me about this infamous Black-madness you mentioned, please?“

Regulus grins, seeing the change in topic for what it is, but being more than fine with it, and starts to explain about purebloods, their fanatic belief in blood purity, inbreeding and their family. And while he overcame the beliefs of pureblood supremacy a long time ago, for the first time in years he feels a little bit like finding a piece of his family, instead of being resented by the boy across from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Regulus! I love and have a very soft spot for him, and he's going to play a huge role in this story.  
> How he's still alive, what he does and so on will be explained later on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For translation and everything else, look at the end-notes. I hope you'll enjoy!

Hadrian and Petunia arrive back at Privet Drive in the early evening and he quickly retreats to his room, flopping onto his bed. He’s satisfied with the way the day went, not only because he got what he wanted. Normally, interactions with others tire him out, but to his surprise, he actually likes Regulus. Considering that up until now he only ever liked Death, it’s a rather new experience for him. But Regulus is obviously smart and doesn’t take himself too seriously, not to mention that he was _nice_ to him, instead of acting like he found Hadrian strange or only wanted to know him for his fame.

The latter is something he fears to become a common occurrence in the future, and he’s a little relieved that the first person in the wizarding world he had a conversation with wasn't some star-struck idiot. No matter that he’s the only mortal who knows it’s only thanks to Death that he survived Voldemort’s attack, he still thinks it’s utterly ridiculous that anybody could believe that a toddler vanished the Dark Lord. But then again, he supposes that the whole thing might work in his favour, even if it means that he has to deal with people at some point.

He still doesn't think that Regulus will be any help with getting away from the Dursleys though. While he seemed nice and honest enough, he expects him to lose interest eventually, and he won't give up a working status quo. But there isn't any harm in acquiring knowledge while he can. And Regulus’ remark about the library of the Black’s sounded very promising indeed. Now, to find out a little more...-

"Death? Can you tell me a bit more about Regulus? He mentioned that he was on the dark side of the war but got out of any conviction. I don’t think he lied to me, but he was rather vague.“

After appearing in his room and taking a seat on the only chair, Death thinks for a moment and then says: "Well yes, he was honest. He got recruited into the Death Eater ranks directly out of school, barely 18 years old, and learned soon that there wasn't much sanity left in Voldemort. He heard a lot of stories about him growing up and recognised that Voldemort and his goals had changed drastically over time. At some point, he found out why, and before you ask me, I'll tell you about this before you go to Hogwarts, but right now, you're still too young.“ Hadrian grumbles a bit, but Death simply ignores him.

"Anyway, he realised that this wasn't what he wanted, but you can't just quit the Death Eater’s, so he came up with a plan that, to be honest, only really worked because of a lot of coincidences and Voldemort’s downfall a year later. Regulus has a rather good head on his shoulders and after he finished school, he had gotten an offer from the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry that he rejected at first, in favour of becoming a Death Eater. As he was still very young and inexperienced, very few knew about his allegiance and he convinced Voldemort to let him work as a spy in said Department.”

Death shifts a little on the chair, which creaks at the movement. “They do a lot of obscure research there, and normally nobody working there can talk about what they're doing. If Voldemort still had been of a sound mind, he would have realised that he could only learn bits and pieces from Regulus. But he hoped to get something he was looking for which is stored in the Department, so he agreed.” “

Hadrian snorts and shakes his head, unable to understand how someone could overlook something so important.

Death inclines his head in agreement before he continues. “Regulus then had the possibility to search for a solution for the problem he discovered, the actual reason he wanted to work there, and when Voldemort disappeared a year later, it was this that saved him from Azkaban. Some people are still suspicious of him, simply because he's a Black, but he doesn't even bear the Dark Mark because Voldemort removed it in favour of gaining a spy.”

“Wow, I didn’t even know that was possible. Did he do that often?” he interrupts, already wondering how this worked. He never really understood the reason for marking your followers so obviously and thus making it easy for anyone to spot them.

“No, Regulus is the only one for whom he ever did this,” Death says. “For one because he would've never gotten a job in the DoM otherwise and Voldemort _really_ wanted said object, for the other because most of the Black’s were at least supportive of him and he didn't doubt Regulus' intentions. Nearly no other Death Eater knew he was initiated, at least none of the ones that gave up names after the war, and so he was saved without having to bribe his way through the Ministry. Adding to all this that Regulus doesn’t agree anymore with Voldemort’s later goals of pureblood supremacy and the eradication of all muggles, and nor does he think that reaching his goals with pure force would be a good idea, I find him to be an alright contact to have.“

Coming from Death, that’s practically high praise, and Hadrian feels some of his lingering worries melt away.

It isn't that he has a problem with dark witches and wizards in general, he thinks the modern equation of 'dark means evil' is rather stupid anyway, but he knows that he’s probably perceived as the biggest enemy to those that are still loyal to Voldemort and he’d rather avoid getting into trouble with any of them. He knows that the few skills of wandless magic he developed and Atana wouldn’t be enough to protect him against a grown wizard.

Besides, it proves that his own assessment of Regulus is correct and there’s nothing standing in his way of gaining more knowledge and a connection to the wizarding world. He knows about the reputation of the Black’s, but he has little desire of keeping his image as the ‘Golden Boy of the Light,’ so 'Potter-Black' makes for a nice combination as far as he’s concerned.

* * *

Over the next months, Hadrian meets up with Regulus weekly and they often spend the whole day together. The first few times they go to pubs, Regulus drinking a lot of coffee and from time to time going for a smoke, and Hadrian satisfying his need for sugar. They talk about the ways of the wizarding world, the Black family and their history, Hogwarts, other important families, and everything and anything that comes to mind.

They mostly stuck to Muggle cafés and bars to avoid any unwanted questions, and to Hadrian’s surprise, the aristocratic-looking wizard fits in perfectly. Hadrian asks countless questions about whatever he’s reading at the time and Regulus starts to instruct him on etiquette and pureblood traditions and brings him a new pile of books every week.

Regulus also wanted to teach him French, but he just explained in said language that there’s no need, then continued in fluent Latin that languages are not a problem. Regulus just shook his head in fond exasperation and asked him if they sometimes could talk in French because his has gotten rather rusty.

Regulus also travels a lot, and it’s those stories in particular that Hadrian never gets tired of, especially the tales about magical sites of the world.

By Samhain, 2 months after their first meeting, Hadrian can’t ignore the slowly spreading hope that Regulus might not become tired of him after all any longer. Not only for all the things he learns from him, but also because he genuinely enjoys his company and feels a little less lonely in the world. So, when Regulus offers to do the Samhain ritual together, he only hesitates for the fraction of a second before he shoves all his reservations aside, and even agrees to stay overnight at the ancestral Black home in London.

Regulus picks him up at Privet Drive early on the 31st and apparates them to Grimmauld Place, much to Atanas chagrin who decidedly doesn’t like this method of transportation. He’s introduced to Kreacher, who’s a bit wary of him and the hissing snake on his shoulders, but after some reassurances from Regulus he acts friendly enough.

After a short tour of the comfortable and homey house, with the dark colour schemes, narrow hallways, and the occasional odd clatter and trinkets, they spend the whole day in the library, both getting lost in books and only resurfacing when Kreacher reminds them to eat something.

In the late afternoon Hadrian decides to explore the seemingly endless room more thoroughly, and after checking with Regulus which areas he should better avoid, he strolls through the winding aisles of shelves of which he can't even see the top. In the back of the library, he finds a full shelf with books on Parselmagic, and he would have spent days there if Kreacher hadn't found him for dinner.

It’s more of a feast than dinner really, and they idly talk about the origins of certain types of magic, why some things work better in one language than another, and how families developed their own rituals and customs for different occasions. No matter the topic, Regulus is always patient to explain and appears to be as delighted about sharing his knowledge as Hadrian is to learn.

Tonight, they’re going to do the traditional Black ritual for Samhain, and Hadrian can barely contain his excitement. Family rituals are well-guarded secrets, and he appreciates it as the sign of trust and welcoming into the family that it is. He knows that it means even more than a blood test naming him as the heir, and it further strengthens the cautious sliver of hope and longing that _maybe,_ just maybe, Regulus might become a permanent fixture in his life.

Samhain is known as the day where the veil between the living and the death is the thinnest, it’s celebrated to honour the ongoing circle between life, death, and rebirth, and considering his own relation to Death, he thinks there isn’t a better ritual to be his first.

After they finish dinner, they put on their black and simple ritual robes and go downstairs into the ritual room. In the middle, a large runic circle which Hadrian couldn't even begin to understand is painted with chalk. At the north-point stands a small bowl with blue and orange flames burning inside, at the south another one with purified water. The bowl on the eastern point holds rosemary, while at the west-point lies a human skull. In between the focal points, black and white candles are placed, the only sources of light in the windowless room. Long shadows flicker over the dark walls, giving the room a festive and sombre atmosphere.

Before they enter the circle, Regulus instructs him to just listen this time, as the chanting is long and can be complicated to keep up while the ritual takes effect, especially for someone as young and inexperienced as Hadrian. He’s fine with that, knowing that once you start, it can be dangerous to break off, and so he takes his place face to face with Regulus, both sitting cross-legged on the stone floor and joining hands.

Regulus begins to chant in a low and even voice, the sound reverberating from the stone walls, and after the first two times the air in the room slowly becomes thicker with their joined magic. Hadrian gets the vague, indescribable impression of being surrounded by whispers both known and unknown, but all of them curious and well-meaning. After a few more iterations he sinks into a trance, magic pulsing through him and a feeling of total belonging for the first time in his life.

_Transiit messis finita est, ac nudis in agris._  
_Terra, refrigeravit, et terra vacua remansit._  
_De diis mortem manent in nobis,_  
_observatio aperiam oculos meos viventium._  
_Exspectant, patienter agit aevum._

_Ave tibi derisor Anubis! O fontem draconis unum virens,_  
_custos mortuorum._  
_Ut tempus spero_  
_ut dignum me putes._

_Ave fuit tibi, Demeter! O mater tenebris,_  
_Sit dolor detrahetur ex pretio tuo_  
_quondam multo cum filia tua refert._

_Ave vobis, Hecate! O custos portæ,_  
_et inter haec orbem terrarum inferis._  
_Peto cum Jordane transmisso:_  
_guide me sapientia._

_Ave tibi Freya! Folkvangr o magistra,_  
_custos qui in prælio._  
_Vobiscum servare animabus antecessorum._

_Ave fuit tibi, o deorum omnium dearumque_  
_qui custodit te inferos_  
_et mortuus est in ultima iter ad guide._  
_Et hoc est frigida et obscura,_  
_Ego te peto parces mihi_  
_et custodierit me in illa hora_  
_quae accipere finalis iter meum._

He can’t tell if Regulus is still chanting, isn't sure how much time passes or if he’s even still completely in his own body. The only thing that he’s acutely aware of is the connection he feels to the world around him, to his ancestors that he can feel just out of his grasp, and the absolute knowledge that he _belongs_.

When he finally comes back to himself, the candles are nearly burned out and he realises that there are tears running down his face. He feels lighter than he can remember ever feeling, his magic is settled and content and his mind calm.

Regulus smiles softly at him and helps him to his feet, and without really thinking about it, Hadrian hugs him, burying his head in his chest and somehow laughing and crying at the same time. Regulus hugs him back instantly, holding him close and thankfully not saying anything for a while. After a few minutes, he tells him that he hasn't experienced the ritual this intensely for a long time, and Hadrian has the sneaking suspicion that Death has something to do with that.

Disentangling himself from Regulus he grins cheekily. “What can I say, I'm simply awesome like that.“

Regulus just laughs, grey eyes sparkling, and after cleaning up the room they both go to bed, tired but content beyond words.

* * *

They don't really talk about it, but it’s obvious that something shifted that night and they become a lot closer. Hadrian still doesn't trust Regulus to really stay, but he opens up a little more and their topics stray from theoretical matters more frequently.

He tells him about the stuff Atana gets up to, like her favourite pastime of scaring the Dursley’s; about the crazy cat lady Miss Figg that spies on him for Dumbledore (Regulus may have forgotten that Hadrian understands him perfectly when he curses the man six ways to Sunday in French), and that he generally dislikes other people so much that he 'convinced' the Dursley’s to 'home-school' him.

In return, Regulus also drifts more often into personal topics, talking about his childhood or his time at Hogwarts and about stories of his work at the ministry he’s able to share.

They fall into a comfortable routine, spending 'their' Sundays at Grimmauld Place between talking, reading and lessons of all sorts while Atana explores the house, glad to find some rodents in the darkest corners. Hadrian makes acquaintance with a lot of portraits, which proclaim it their task to teach him all about masking his facial expressions and how to charm his way through anyone and anything.

Regulus laughs when he finds him sitting in front of Walburga’s portrait, trying to keep a completely straight face through stories of the childhoods of the numerous Black children. He laughs even harder when he finds him in the kitchen, wearing angelic puppy-eyes trying to convince Kreacher to make him a chocolate cake to take home. That he succeeds surprises Hadrian more than Regulus, and the latter refuses to even keep one piece for himself when Kreacher presents his finished work proudly.

When he’s not with Regulus, which is still most of the time, Hadrian continues his studying, but it revolves mostly around magical subjects by now. Death still teaches him most of the practical things because he hasn't told Regulus about his wandless magic yet. He doesn't even know why exactly. The Dursley’s always saw his magic as something freakish, something abnormal, but he rationally _knows_ that especially wandless magic is a skill many adult wizards aren't capable of. Maybe he’s just scared that Regulus might see it as something out of the ordinary too, and as a result becomes wary or distant, however irrational these thoughts might be.

He practices his Legilimency on the Dursley’s and his offensive spells on Death who makes a resigned but willing target, while he suffers through a running commentary from both Death and Atana. The latter can't understand why Hadrian still lives at Privet Drive and has made it an art form to lunge out of the most impossible corners to scare the three other inhabitants out of their minds.

To say that the tension is high in the house would be an understatement, especially because Regulus has taken to apparating directly inside when picking him up to avoid any attention from Miss Figg, and the Dursley are decidedly not impressed to see another 'freak' in their home every week. Not that Regulus or Hadrian care the slightest.

* * *

Over Yule, Regulus is travelling for three weeks and Hadrian misses his company terribly, but he still wouldn't, couldn't bring himself to really think about leaving Privet Drive behind. They didn’t bring the matter up again yet, and even if he sometimes dreams about living with Regulus, he knows that there’s a huge difference between spending one day a week together and living under the same roof. And he knows it would thoroughly shatter him if Regulus would get tired of him in a year or so.

As it’s now, he knows what he has, is used to the Dursley’s hate of having him here but he knows what to expect and it hasn't hurt since he was 4 years old and Death appeared in his cupboard, healing his broken wrist and telling him he’s _special_ , that it’s his relatives that are in the wrong. As it’s now, he has one day in the week that provides a break from this routine, and he convinces himself that it’s enough for him, that he doesn't need _help_ or _more_ or for anything to be _different._

He already resents himself a bit for the dependency he developed over the last few months, and only the conviction that he would still survive and get over it if Regulus lets him down keeps him from panicking. Because he still has a working relationship with the Dursleys, he still has Death and Atana and Thanatos and some of his secrets, so it would _hurt_ but he would still _survive._ If he leaves this place, and Regulus lets him down, he would never get over the shame of having to crawl back here, of having had _hope._

So, he buries himself in his books and his practices, just pausing for something to eat or a short talk with Death or Atana. He starts to try spells in different languages and documents the results. Especially Parselmagic fascinates him, as it could be a huge advantage, seeing that it’s horribly difficult to block or circumvent in any other language.

French and Spanish, the latter he had 'learned' some months ago, are about as useful as English, while Latin and ancient Greek prove to be useful – not really a surprise considering that most spells have at least Latin origins. Non-verbal magic comes easily to him, but only when he combines the intent with thinking in the respective language, and he just can't figure out why or how.

Death isn't much help either because his kind of magic works differently from the mortal one, and in the end it’s only after a long rant to Atana that she reminds him of his conversation with Regulus over Samhain, when he stated that certain languages work like an amplifier and a sort of connection and that it doesn't matter much if you say it out loud or only think it, the reciprocity between language, intent and magic stays the same. She also explains that this is the reason Parselmagic doesn't work well nonverbally, because it sounds and feels the same to him as English and it takes way more practice to master without speaking out loud. Merlin and Morgana bless magical snakes.

All these projects work rather well in distracting him from his worries and he manages to push everything related to Regulus or his relatives into the dark corners of his mind, and for once neither Death nor Atana needle him about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Regulus! The next few chapters will focus a lot on their relationship as it is important for the story but takes some time to develop.  
> Harry is still just a kid, so not everything might seem rational. I try to do his age justice.  
> I hope you liked the Samhain-ritual, the latin translation probably isn't the best as it was a long time ago that I had it in school, but it felt more authentic than doing it in english.  
> The translation: 
> 
> The harvest has ended, and the fields are bare.  
> The earth has grown cold, and the land is empty.  
> The gods of the death are lingering over us,  
> keeping a watchful eye upon the living.  
> They wait, patiently, for eternity is theirs.
> 
> Hail to you, Anubis! O jackal headed one,  
> guardian of the realm of the dead.  
> When my time comes, I hope  
> you may deem me worthy.
> 
> Hail to you, Demeter! O mother of darkness,  
> May your grief be abated  
> when your daughter returns once more.
> 
> Hail to you, Hecate! O keeper of the gate,  
> between this world and the underworld.  
> I ask that when I cross over,  
> you may guide me with wisdom.
> 
> Hail to you, Freya! O mistress of Folkvangr,  
> guardian of those who fall in battle.  
> Keep the souls of my ancestors with you.
> 
> Hail to you, O gods and goddesses,  
> those of you who guard the underworld  
> and guide the dead on their final journey.  
> At this time of cold and dark,  
> I honor you, and ask that you watch over me,  
> and protect me when the day arrives  
> that I take my final journey. 
> 
>  
> 
> I have another few chapters written and try to update every two or three days.  
> Thank you all for reading, Kudos and comments, it's a great reward! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Regulus doesn't know what to do. It’s the beginning of March, and the last two months his relationship with Hadrian has been kind of... stagnant. It’s not that he’s more distant than before but there’s no progress to talk of either.

At first, he thought that it might be because he was on vacation for three weeks, but Hadrian spent a whole day asking questions, getting secondhand excitement out of his stories and there wasn't even an ounce of resentment about him being absent. Then he wondered if he maybe got bored, just reading and discussing things every time they meet, but when he asked and suggested doing something else, Hadrian just asked him if he was okay, shook his head and returned to his book.

It isn't that they aren't close exactly, he’s pretty sure that apart from his snake, Hadrian talks to nobody else as much and as openly as with him. But there’s still a distance between them, a tension in Hadrian’s shoulders and an underlying wariness in his eyes that never really leave, making his heart clench for this child way too young to be so cautious of everyone around him.

Regulus has absolutely no experience with children. He has been the youngest of all the Black children, and the only other child he knows is Narcissa’s son, who is a spoiled brat if he ever saw one, but even he can tell that this can’t be healthy.

So, he resigns himself to observing for the time being, and it’s one of the following weeks that his assessment gets confirmed once more. They are quietly sitting in the library when Hadrian summons a book to him without even looking up from the one he’s currently reading.

After just gaping for a few seconds he asks: "Did you just do that consciously?!“

Startled, Hadrian looks at him, then at the new book in his hand, shrugs his shoulders and sighs. "I wouldn't say consciously, but if you're asking if that was accidental magic, then no.“

"Can you do other stuff wandlessly as well?“

He looks to the side, an apprehensive look crossing his eyes, and Regulus wonders what he’s thinking about. But then he sits up a bit straighter and grins, the wariness giving way to something akin to pride. "Well, I can summon and levitate things, set stuff on fire, some minor hexes and a very weak Shield Charm, a Lumos, unlocking and locking charms and a weak Silencing Charm, do Legilimency and a minor compulsion to humans, and a sort-of Imperius on smaller animals non-verbally. I can transfigure small stuff of the same texture or changing colours verbally, and of course some Parselmagic which generally is a lot easier when spoken out loud. I think that's about it, and if I do a lot of different things, I tire quickly but yeah. Cool huh?“

Regulus is speechless, again, until a weak stinging hex hits his hand and he laughs. "Cool? That’s amazing kiddo, most adult wizards and witches can't do that much! When did you start practicing? And I want to see some proof, just so we're clear!“ Honestly, he wonders if there would ever come a point when he isn't rendered speechless every other week. Legilimency and Imperius at the age of 8 are rather scary, even when everything points to a natural proclivity to the mind-arts, and he’s kind of glad that he’s already on Hadrian’s good side.

The next hour is spent with demonstrations, during which Regulus marvels at the warm feeling of pride that curls in his chest while he watches.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but why didn't you show me earlier? It's something to be proud of and you obviously put a lot of work into it,“ he asks when they sit at the kitchen table afterwards, Regulus drinking another cup of coffee while Hadrian has some tea and biscuits.

"I don't know, it just… never came up? I know it's rather special, but the simple truth is that I wanted to start training my magic when I was seven, and as I'm unable to get a wand until I'm eleven, I just had to do it like this. Doing it non-verbally just kind of happened.“

It’s this kind of answer that shows the lingering distance between them because he’s sure that there’s more to it, but Regulus has a feeling that pushing won't help, so he just sighs, shakes his head and says, smiling: "You're an amazing child, don't you ever let anybody tell you otherwise.“

* * *

It’s another few weeks later, nearly the beginning of May, that Regulus comes home to a black note with his name in light grey letters on it, lying on the kitchen table. Kreacher has no idea where it came from, but every diagnostic charm he knows comes back clean and so he unfolds the stiff parchment.

_Hadrian trusts you more than any other living being, but he still expects you to lose interest and leave him at any time._  
_You must prove to him that you won't just discard him if, and only if you really want him to trust you completely._  
_Think this through, because if you let him down there will be nowhere you can hide._

Regulus slumps into the closest chair, flicks his wand for a cup of coffee and lights a cigarette, still staring at the ominous note. He doesn't even have the beginning of an idea who or where it could have come from, and something tells him it would be useless to speculate about the origin and very, very stupid to disregard the warning.

Surprisingly enough, the threat is not the part of the note that actually bothers him. He already came to terms with the fact that he cares more about Hadrian than he ever expected to. Conditioned by age he could be his son, but he’s more like a little brother to him. While he feels fiercely protective and loves him like family, he feels less like an authority-figure and more like someone able to offer some guidance and support.

It took some time to come to terms with this though. He didn't think it would be a possible development within less than a year. Regulus never saw himself as someone with children, and no matter how much he sees Hadrian as a little brother, he’s still only eight years old and Regulus is aware that if he moved in with him, his life would change drastically.

There might be no fights about toys or unwillingness to do homework, and Hadrian might be more independent than the usual child of his age, but none of that changes the fact that it’s a huge responsibility. Still, Regulus would prefer any drastic changes and responsibilities over Hadrian’s lasting reservations or leaving him with the Dursley’s.

What does bother him is that Hadrian is apparently still scared that he would turn his back on him, and even more so that he didn’t realise this himself, seeing that it’s to be expected. Between those horrid relatives and the pedestal the wizarding world puts him on, it’s a miracle that he turned out relatively fine. Besides, being cautious of other’s intentions is something Regulus understands rather well so he really should have anticipated this.

So how is he going to prove to the most distrustful child he ever met that he wouldn't let him down?

He finishes his second cigarette and decides that he doesn’t have to come up with the perfect solution right now – he doubts that he would convince him with any boastful gestures anyway and that the only way to go might be to just _not leave_ , no matter how inadequate that feels.

His mind provides him with the picture of asking Severus, the man at least has some experience with the whole distrustful part, and he snorts into his empty cup. That would go over well.

When he puts away his cup and the ashtray, he absentmindedly thinks that, if Hadrian actually comes to live with him, he should probably stop smoking inside, which leads him to ponder all the little adjustments he has to make in order for this to work.

On a whim, he calls Kreacher and orders him to keep an inconspicuous eye on Privet Drive, and then tries to push the whole thing to the back of his mind, for the time being, retreating to the library. It feels like he’s failing, unable to do something _right now,_ and unsurprisingly enough, his thoughts keep circling around Hadrian and the strange black note. Whenever he manages to ignore the feeling of dread and inadequacy, his curiosity rears its head, demanding answers about the sender or the wording of ‘more than any other living being.’

After another hour of uselessly racking his brain, he summons a bottle of Firewhiskey and sits in front of the fire, trying to lose himself to the burning in his throat and the heat of the flickering flames. It’s one of those rare days where he misses someone to really talk to, like Barty. Barty, who died pitifully in Azkaban, and so many others still rotting in that godforsaken place.

Sure, there are Severus and Narcissa, and with both, he’s rather close, but he couldn't even begin to explain his strange relationship to Hadrian Potter to them, even less his intention of claiming guardianship. Not before it’s in any way official at least, and to achieve that there needs to be trust. He’d never try to pressure Hadrian into accepting it.

After hours of running in circles and three glasses of Firewhiskey he gives up for the night and gets a Calming Draught on his way to bed for good measure. His last coherent question before he finally falls asleep is how many more missions originally meant for his brother he’ll have to take on in the future.

* * *

In the middle of June, Regulus is still without any big epiphanies, and there are days where he wants to curse the author of the note for not maybe leaving some more specific instructions for proving to Hadrian that he can trust him. He always ends up with ‘being persistent’ and ‘he’ll believe it when he sees it,’ and while he objectively knows that this makes sense, at the moment it feels utterly useless. The only active step he took was offering him to stay whole weekends at Grimmauld Place, which was met with enthusiastic agreement, and so he hopes he’s at least on the right path.

Through it all, Regulus kind of forgot that he ordered Kreacher to keep an eye on Privet Drive, so when he comes home after work one day and Kreacher stands in the entrance hall, wringing his hands and rambling at rapid speed about terrible muggles, he has absolutely no idea what the elf is trying to tell him.

"Alright, Kreacher stop. Deep breath and tell me what's going on, alright?“

Kreacher stares at him as if he’s stupid, but says at a more comprehensible pace: "Kreacher did as Master Regulus told him and is watching young Master and his terrible Muggles, and the Muggles left, going on vacation without Master Hadrian, but they been locking young Master into his room and Kreacher is not knowing if he be getting out or for how long the Muggles are being gone. Kreacher wanted to use elf-magic but I be feeling wards and not wanting someone knowing about Kreacher being there, so I be coming to tell Master Regulus.“

Now, Regulus generally is a very grounded and even-tempered person, so much so that some people in Slytherin had tried to challenge him to duels on a regular basis, in the belief that he was “too soft“ to belong into the house or on top of the hierarchy. But the thing is that Regulus is still a Black, and even if it takes a lot to really anger him, attacking the people he holds dear never fails to bring forward his more vicious streak.

Merely grounding out a “Thank you, Kreacher,“ he apparates on the spot, landing in the sterile corridor of Number 4, Privet Drive.

He takes the stairs two steps at a time and comes to a halt before Hadrian’s door, seeing no less than 10 locks on it. He has to take a few, deep breaths to not just blow the door out of its hinges. He knows Hadrian would probably be able to get out sooner or later, but the fact remains that they _just couldn't know this_ for sure and they _just left him._

After another deep breath, Regulus unlocks the door and stalks into the room, his eyes instantly falling onto Hadrian. He’s lying on his bed with a book in his hands, Atana curled on his chest and they both look at him curiously

It's this picture, this simple acceptance of being locked inside his room and not even _trying_ to get out that gets Regulus to snap for the first time in years. "Okay listen, I get that you have difficulties trusting me, that you're scared that I just up and leave at some point or lose interest or _I don’t know_ what you imagine me to do. I get that with these fucking bastards of relatives you at least kind of know what to expect and you have an, as you so nicely call it, 'working-relationship', that here you have some power over them because of your magic and you're kind of scared because with me, you wouldn't have that advantage so much. You're probably also scared that I would expect things from you or set too many rules or try to be a replacement for your parents or whatever it is that makes you so sure that this shithole is the better alternative, but I honestly can't watch this anymore, you're like a little brother to me, _you're family_ , and I promise you - no, you know what?!”

He pauses shortly and pulls his wand, not thinking twice about what he’s going to do. “I, Regulus Arcturus Black, swear on my magic that I will never leave you unless you want me to, that I will stay by your damn stubborn, brilliant, cheeky side, that I will treat you with respect and without the expectation to be anyone but yourself, that I will never misuse the power the guardianship of you would give me or to try to replace your parents. I promise to never lock you into a _fucking room,_ make you follow unreasonable rules or treat you as less than a human being. So I say it, so mote it be.“

A golden light encircles his wand and wrist and sinks into his skin while he tries to get his breathing back to normal and, after realising what he just did, hoping that he didn't scare Hadrian off completely with his little rant.

After long moments of just staring at each other and Regulus already running through a hundred scenarios to fix his blasted outburst, Hadrian jumps up from the bed, dislodging Atana in the process, and hugs him tightly, grasping his robes and burying his head into his chest. Regulus shoulders slump in relief and he hugs him back just as tightly, burying his nose in the black locks.

After a few minutes of standing like this, Hadrian steps back and says: "You took an oath on your magic. You know, you could have just told me, I might have believed you,“ and while his tone is teasing, there is also a little awe in his eyes and voice.

Regulus just flips his ear and answers: "Let’s pack your stuff and go home you little brat. It's time to get out of here before I decide to burn the whole bloody house down.“

"I'm not sure what sounds better, _home_ or burning this place to the ground, but I think I might actually go for the former.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now Harry might seem unnaturally skilled, and while he'll be a prodigy in this story, there are also some points to consider: Death is not the most mercifull teacher and pushes him constantly. Not too much but enough that nearly 2 years of practical training warrant a lot of progress.  
> He also practically lived in books since he was 5 years old, and when he wasn't reading, Death told him about and taught him stuff. He doesn't always understand everything but he has an eidetic memory, so he never forgets anything.  
> Last but not least, he has some magical talents that already show, but there won't come new ones every year, so a proclivity to Mind-magic, meaning Legilimency, compulsions and stuff, as well as magic-sensibility are the core ones. I'm of the belief (as far as a belief can go in a fictional world) that an early training of ones magic makes wandless magic an less impossible feat. It is also dangerous if you don't have Death watching over and healing you constantly, so it's not common to teach children from the age of seven (strong magical number, therefor core-boost and stuff).  
> And sure, there are some boons to having Death as a mentor, but Hadrian will not become an all-powerful superman who takes Dumbles and Voldy down single-handedly at 14 or something. His talents just manifest early and grow.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they really make my day! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the Kudos and Comments! 
> 
> It's 2 chapters this time, yay!  
> Because they are both rather short and cover some time before I can really start getting into the Plot, so I thought I'd upload them together to get on with it.  
> Hope you enjoy! :)

The following week flies by with settling into Grimmauld Place. Theoretically, Hadrian knows the house already, but it takes some time to really sink in that he can consider it _home_ now. He doesn't have to spend six days a week holed up in his room or being sneered at, he doesn't have to hurry through snatching meals from the kitchen or be constantly on guard to be as silent and inconspicuous as possible.

Thanatos and Atana enjoy the newfound freedom just as much. The former can come and go as he pleases without attracting unwanted attention and the latter can stay in her original size most of the time, roaming the house and the back garden in search of a snack.

Both have taken an unmistakable liking to Regulus after his little stunt at Privet Drive and Hadrian already found him a few times in the library with Atana coiled around his shoulders, hissing at him and being frustrated that he can't understand her _very important_ remarks.

It still doesn't feel completely natural to live here, he often feels uncertain about where he’s allowed to go in the house and if he really wouldn't annoy Regulus with his constant presence, but those incidents become less and less frequent. It helps that Regulus always has a smile and stories to share when he sees him, Kreacher mutters about his excitement for having another member of the Black’s to serve, and the portraits keep fighting over who gets to teach him what.

Regulus still has to go to work, obviously, but if he’s honest he’s kind of glad to still have some time to himself, no matter how much he enjoys Regulus’ company. Besides, no matter how not-so-secretly glad Death is about the recent development, he doesn’t let up on his expectations, and it would be difficult to explain why he keeps having conversations with himself over the widest range of topics, or arguments about what to practice next.

About three weeks after he moved in, Regulus is fidgeting at the dinner-table while Hadrian just watches him in amusement. It’s rare that Regulus is nervous about something and it’s kind of funny to see the normally so ingrained poise slip so badly.

"Spit it out Reg, what's bothering you? Did you finally find the limit of your caffeine tolerance?“ he finally asks, when the constant shifting and sighing is threatening to make him nervous as well.

Regulus slumps a little and flashes him a lopsided grin. "You know there's no such thing as too much coffee. No, I just realised today that we probably should talk about the guardianship again because right now, it’s kind of illegal that you live here. But I don't want to pressure you into a decision either, but -“

"Stop rambling you twat, I would be glad if you became my guardian. I just completely forgot about it, to be honest,“ Hadrian laughs, shaking his head fondly. Sometimes he forgets that this is as new for Regulus as it is for him and it’s reassuring to see that he isn't the only one in the house who’s still insecure about some things. "While we're at it,“ he continues, absently thanking Kreacher for clearing the table, "I know you said ‘no unreasonable rules,’ but there have to be at least some, right? So, maybe we should talk about that as well while we're at it?“

Regulus looks relieved and they move to the library, Atana curling into a ball on the couch between them and demanding to be petted.

"The fact that you’re the heir to the House of Black and me being the Lord and only living and free adult you have any relation to makes the whole thing rather easy, we just have to go to Gringotts. I'll have to make a statement that I accept the duties and responsibilities that come with the guardianship, and you have to make one that you want and accept me as your Head of family,” Regulus starts explaining once they’re settled.

“Normally, your current guardians would have to be informed and be given the opportunity to challenge me, but as the Dursleys at least neglected you and Dumbledore never checked on you either, we can skip that part.” Anger flashes over Regulus’ face at the mention, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he only smiles to himself, still a bit incredulous that anybody could be so indignant on his behalf.

“You'll have to give some memories as proof and an oath about the validity of your statements, but this would only become relevant if Dumbledore decides to take this to court. As the Goblins are not obligated to inform him of the change, he probably won't even realise it until you start Hogwarts, as long as we don't start parading around in the British wizarding world. The documents at the Ministry will be updated of course and can be consulted by related parties, but as long as there isn't a reason to, I guess that nobody will bother.“

Hadrian smirks, because this is _perfect_ , seeing that he has no desire to already step into the eyes of the public, nor does he want to have an argument with Dumbledore right now. When he starts Hogwarts, he’ll be living with Regulus for two years already, making it way more difficult for anyone to challenge the guardianship if he doesn't express any reservations for his living-situation. Because even now the only possible argument against him living here would be that Regulus is a Black and the whole added baggage of a supposedly dark wizard raising the 'boy-who-lived,' but in two years everyone will be able to see that he’s fine, so that argument will be naught.

"Awesome, I love the Goblins, they make things so much easier! And I don't want to parade around the wizarding world anyway, I'm more than content with another two years of peace and quiet.“

"Yeah, I thought so. We'll go to Gringotts on Saturday and I thought we could go shopping for your room afterwards.” Regulus smiles, and Hadrian feels warmth spread through him at the prospect.

“Now for rules, I really don't have that many. I won't tell you when to go to bed, but if you overdo it, I'll hit you with a sleeping-charm, so consider yourself warned.” Regulus smirks, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that he’ll do exactly that.

After sobering again, Regulus says: “I'd ask you to not go out alone when I'm at work and to also stay clear of the potions lab, as there's a lot of stuff that can be dangerous if you don't know exactly what you're doing. If you want to, I start tutoring you of course. Apart from that, you can roam the house as you please, except for my and Sirius' old room. If you want to explore the attic, take Kreacher with you because there are a lot of cursed artefacts and the like up there and he can tell you what you shouldn't touch.” He grimaces a bit, and Hadrian wonders just what kind of stuff is up there.

Before he can ask, Regulus keeps talking though, his eyes now serious. “And please, don't start on any dark arts books for another few years as you're simply still too young. I don't care if you want to do that later and would even tutor you, but it's really no subject for trial and error, the same goes for any kind of ritual. If you want to try anything that you're not sure about, I beg you to just come to me and we'll either do it together, or I promise to explain why you should wait a little longer, alright?“

Hadrian nods in agreement, it’s all more than reasonable and he would have done most of it anyway. Of course, he also has Death to tell him what he can and can't try and to fix him up if he overestimates himself, but it’s not like he can tell Regulus that, and luckily keeping to his own lessons won't go against any of the rules.

"I'd like to start potions, I only ever read about it, but a Muggle kitchen is not exactly useable as a potions lab and I probably would have blown something up.“ He says instead, feeling excited at the prospect of starting another magical subject.

Regulus grins knowingly. “Sure, no problem. If you want to, we can also continue with the whole etiquette and pureblood tutoring. You should learn how to write with a quill and the portraits will probably continue pestering you about everything else I forget. I don't expect you to be the perfect heir though, so if you ever get sick of it, you'll have to tell me, alright?” He waits until Hadrian nods in confirmation.

“Good,” he breathes, obviously relieved to be through with this. He tilts his head in thought,  “I'd bet my vault that you'll end up in Slytherin and you'll have an easier time if you at least already heard about all the ridiculous plays and nuances of high and mighty pureblood circles. But I would suggest that you don't tag along for all the functions and social events before you start Hogwarts. Sure, you would already meet a few of the kids you'll start school with, but it's honestly pretty boring at your age and you being the boy-who-lived and all that, they'll probably pester you to death. Also, as soon as you show up there the whole wizarding world will know that you live here and that would put an end to your desired peace and quiet.“

"No that's perfect, I plan on making my official entrance into the wizarding world at eleven, everybody expecting the clueless little boy-who-lived and then shocking everyone, the element of surprise and all that,“ Hadrian smirks in response.

Regulus snorts and ruffles his hair. "As I said, I'd bet my vault that you'll be in Slytherin.“

"I actually thought about that a few days ago,” he muses, putting on his best innocent look. “It would be kind of funny to go to Hufflepuff just to fool everybody into thinking I'm completely harmless. I mean, who would suspect a Hufflepuff? But I probably wouldn't make it through Hogwarts without going stir-crazy, so I dismissed the idea. Still, it would be funny.“

"You'd be a horrible Hufflepuff kiddo, please don't try to convince the hat of putting you there.“

"Alright alright, no Hufflepuff for the Black’s. As for the tutoring, I'm fine with continuing the other lessons as well. I can see how it's useful and like this, I have a broader range of subjects to spend my time on. The portraits are still instructing me on acting and poise and expanding my manipulative streak and all that, it's actually kind of fun.“

Regulus hums and furrows his brows, "Now that you're mentioning it, I should probably also teach you Occlumency. While there aren't many Legilimens today, Dumbledore is one of them and I wouldn't put it past him to use it on you when he starts to get desperate. You already have a natural proclivity for Legilimency, so I suppose you'll find it rather easy.“

"Maybe we should write a list, next to working you might forget half of it in your old age,“ Hadrian quips, earning him a flick to his ear.

"We're not going to overdo it you little imp. I know you're not keen on running around and playing games, but you're still a child and I won't put the pressure on you to spend your whole day between books and tutoring, no matter how much you might enjoy it.“

Hadrian can only nod, trying to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat and deflecting the knowing look by petting Atana. Regulus just puts his arm around his shoulders and lays his head on top of his, both of them getting lost in their own thoughts and being content with just sitting together in silence.

* * *

On Saturday, they make their trip to Gringotts, which goes without a hitch and they then spend their afternoon shopping for and decorating Hadrian’s room.

Regulus convinced him of taking the heir suite, which is bigger than the living room at Privet Drive and has windows from floor to ceiling opposite the entrance. The walls are a warm creme-white and a dark-blue and grey rug covers most of the dark-wood floor. Most of the furniture is also kept in dark tones, a big four-poster bed standing in the corner to the right with blue and grey bedding and curtains, while the desk is positioned in front of the windows. Beside the desk, they put a few big, dark stones for Atana where she can lie in the sun, as well as Thanatos’ perch.

There are two more doors in the left corner, one to a bathroom which is also held in blue and grey, with black marble and a big bathtub embedded into the floor. The other one contains a walk-in closet bigger than the cupboard he used to sleep in. He knows that it’ll take some time to get used to the grandeur of it all.

There are two creme-coloured armchairs and a coffee table in front of the hearth next to the bed, the Black family-crest positioned atop of it. The rest of the walls are lined with bookshelves and a few portraits of forests and mountains, as he doesn't fancy having people watching over him constantly. On some of the surfaces candles and a few knick-knacks are placed, while in the middle of the ceiling hangs a slightly pompous chandelier. It’s comfortable and homey and first and foremost it’s _his_ and he simply loves it.

After dinner, Regulus wants to test his natural Occlumency shields to assert how far his proclivity for mind-magic reaches. He can feel him entering his mind, but there aren't any memories coming forward as Regulus described beforehand, and it takes only a few seconds until the connection is broken again.

Regulus just stares at him for a moment before he says: "You know what, I just stop being surprised by anything you throw at me now, before I get the first grey hairs within the next few years, I'm not even 30 yet you know?!“ At Hadrian’s slightly puzzled and worried look he continues: "I'm not even sure if what you're having can be called shields. Entering your mind is like falling into space or something. It's completely black, cold and silent and to be honest a little scary. If you wouldn't be sitting in front of me, I'd think you're braindead.“

"So... no tutoring in Occlumency?“ Hadrian asks, not really knowing what to say. He has a suspicion where his apparent shields come from, but neither can he ask Death right now nor can he tell Regulus about it.

"No, you definitely don't need it. I suppose you're even more naturally inclined to Occlumency than Legilimency, it's the only explanation I can come up with, especially as your shields are rather untypical for someone who learned it in the traditional way.“ He looks thoughtful and Hadrian feels a pang of regret and guilt that he can't be honest with him, but he just got used to accepting that Regulus really wants him to live here, he can’t risk this by telling him about having _Death_ as a mentor of all things. It’ also not only his secret to tell, and so he just nods and they both decide that they have done enough for the day.

Retiring to his room after another hour, he calls Death and asks him about it.

"Well, of course I am guarding your mind, did you think I would let any pathetic mortal go rummaging around there? Sure, you have a talent for mind-magic and would have learned Occlumency eventually, but that would only work as long as you're conscious, awake and stronger than your opponent, while absolutely nobody will get around my protections, no matter what.“

"Yeah well, thanks I suppose and all that, but you could have warned me before I let Reg try his luck you know?“

"And where would have been the fun in that? His face was kind of amusing, don't you think?!“

Hadrian just rolls his eyes and shoves him which, of course, doesn't do anything except causing Death to laugh at him while he slips into bed.

"By the way, you're still able to produce false memories and images if you want to throw someone off, you'll feel as soon as someone enters your mind and you just have to think up what you want them to see,“ he adds as an afterthought, and Hadrian grunts in acknowledgement, too tired to really form a coherent answer to that. His last thought before falling asleep is that he could have a lot of fun with that.

* * *

On the morning of the 31st of July Hadrian comes down into the kitchen to a huge breakfast, a small mountain of presents and a way too excited Regulus. He honestly forgot about his 9th birthday, as it has never been a special day for him, and he feels a bit overwhelmed with the display.

He sinks down into his chair, accepting his mug of tea from an equally excited Kreacher in a daze, and only stares until Regulus flips his ear. "Come on birthday boy, open your presents!“

His shock slowly gives way for excitement, so he returns the grin and carefully starts to unwrap the parcels. There are a lot of books on a variety of topics, like potions, history and duelling-tactics, a few robes with the Black and Potter-Crest stitched onto them and too many sweets. The last package is the biggest, and after unwrapping it he stares at Regulus with wide eyes. "You got me a broom?“

"Well, I know you aren’t the outside-kind of child, but I thought maybe you'd like to at least learn how to fly before you go to Hogwarts? You know, I played seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team and sometimes I go flying at the weekends, so if you're enjoying it I could take you from time to time. It's maybe also a bit of a selfish present but -“

"Stop rambling, I love it! I don't know if I'll enjoy flying but it sounds kind of cool and at least I'll be able to try,“ Hadrian interrupts him while getting up to hug him.

"Awesome! We can go today, I decided that there will be no studying on your birthday and the weather is perfect.“ Hadrian lets go of him, grinning, and hugs Kreacher as well, thanking him for the small feast he put on the table and slightly overwhelming the house-elf in the process.

After he sits back down Regulus continues: "I also have another surprise, kind of. You know I'm always travelling over the summer and I thought you might enjoy going to Paris and Rome with me in August? I planned for a week each and this way you're not holed up here the whole summer.“

Hadrian is nearly jumping in his seat, barely containing his excitement. "Really?! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Yes, I'd love to go travelling! Will we go to the wizarding sites in Paris and Rome? And what about the other sights? Will we -“

"Har, to use your own words, stop rambling,“ Regulus laughs. "We'll leave in two weeks, so we have enough time to plan what we're going to do. Of course we'll be visiting the wizarding districts, and as I've already been a few times to both cities you can choose what you want to see, don't worry!“

Hadrian just grins brightly, more than excited, and finally eats his pancakes.

After finishing breakfast, Regulus apparates them both with their brooms to Black Manor, which stands tall and proud in the countryside of Wiltshire and has a Quidditch-pitch. Hadrian takes to flying effortlessly and they play a few seeker games until they’re tired out.

After that, the summer flies by with flying, their holidays and Hadrian switching between lessons in potions, etiquette, traditions, history, astronomy, practicing magic and everything else that catches his interest.

Paris and Rome are both fascinating, he 'learned' Italian before they left, and he enjoys being able to practice his language skills nearly as much as visiting all those old and amazing places.

Before they know it, it’s Samhain again, and this time Hadrian joins the ritual actively. It’s as overwhelming and grounding as it has been the first time, and he marvels at how much his life has changed for the better over the last year.


	8. Chapter 8

Since Hadrian moved in with him, Regulus can practically see him flourish. He’s still glued to books and close to obsessed with gathering knowledge, but he also enjoys flying as much as Regulus does and is slowly becoming more carefree and confident. The haunted look in his eyes is gone most of the time and he’s less and less guarded at home.

Regulus is sure that there are still some secrets Hadrian doesn’t talk about, seeing that there are a handful of simply inexplicable things, but he never pushes and just hopes that there’ll be enough trust eventually. He’s already the only one that gets to see this more carefree and relaxed version of him, and he knows that they’ve come a long way. Not only that; while Hadrian is still rather cold and reserved whenever they go out into Muggle London or travelling, there’s more and more confidence underneath it, instead of insecurity. He’ll probably never trust easily, but Regulus doesn’t either, and with his fame, it might be a smart move anyway.

The shifting of the wards pulls him out of his musings, and he hurries out of his study into the sitting room, just to find Severus Snape idly inspecting some trinkets on the mantel.

He raises a questioning eyebrow because they just saw each other over lunch last week and it’s out of character for Severus to turn up unannounced, especially during the school year.

Before he can voice his question however, there are steps thundering down the stairs and he closes his eyes in resignation.

“Reg, Reg, I finally managed the advanced Shield Charm, I just –“ Hadrian bursts through the door and instantly stops in his tracks. As soon as his eyes fall on Severus standing in front of the hearth his face blanks over and his whole posture stiffens.

Regulus runs a hand through his hair and sighs, inwardly cursing himself for forgetting to block the Floo. He didn’t tell anyone yet about Hadrian. With Severus he’s uncertain how far his loyalty to Dumbledore reaches and he doesn’t want to take the risk of the Headmaster finding out, and Narcissa would want to set play dates with Draco and he _really_ doesn’t want to see how badly that would go.

Realising that they’ve all been staring at each other in silence for nearly a minute and that there isn’t much he can do about it now anyway, he sighs again and says: “Well then, Severus, this is Hadrian, Hadrian, that’s Severus Snape, the potions master at Hogwarts.”

Hadrian bows his head stiffly and says: "Nice to meet you, Professor. I'm looking forward to your classes. Reg, I think I go back upstairs if that's alright?“

Regulus just gestures to the door with a weak smile and Hadrian disappears; this time completely silent.

He stares after him for a few seconds, before finally looking back at Severus. “Come on, let’s go to my study, I think this conversation calls for firewhiskey.”

After they settled down into two comfortable armchairs in front of the fire, both with a tumbler in their hands, Severus seems to finally get over his shock and drawls: "Care to tell me why there's a child in your house? Or, even better _who_ that is, because I think I would have noticed by now if you had become a father at the age of 18 or 19, even if he looks remarkably like you.“

Regulus lets his eyes roam over his messy desk in the corner of the room, the snowflakes dancing in the light of the streetlamps behind the windows, and then chances a quick look at one of his oldest friends. "Well, there's no easy way to say this,” he finally mutters and then decides that straightforward might be the way to go. “That’s who you'd know as Harry Potter, just that he hates being called 'Harry' and his actual name is Hadrian. Hadrian Potter-Black, to be more specific because my brother blood-adopted him. For what he's doing here – he's living with me, for nearly six months already. We first met over a year ago and I claimed guardianship in the middle of June.“

Severus splutters and coughs but somehow still manages to stare at him like he lost his mind, and Regulus nearly laughs because it’s such a rare occurrence to see the other man so out of his depth.

"Why? Why in Merlin’s name would you claim guardianship of the bloody boy-who-lived? Didn't he feel pampered and spoiled enough at his previous residence? Don't you think he just-“

"Stop!” he growls, all humour leaving him in the fraction of a second. He forgot Severus’ immense hate for anything ‘Potter.’ “Stop, because if you continue that I'm going to hex you into next week, no matter how old our friendship might be. I know you hated James Potter with a passion, and rightly so, but whatever Dumbledore told you about Hadrian, it's simply not true.”

At Severus disbelieving expression he shakes his head and continues, “He lived with Muggle relatives that hated him for being a wizard more than anything and before his magic acted up, they made him sleep in a cupboard, do chores the whole day. After some accidental magic, they at least gave him the second bedroom of their son and stopped starving him, but as long as you don't count getting food as being spoiled and pampered, it was still pretty horrible.” He pauses and summons the bottle from the small table between them, absentmindedly wondering when he became so prone to ranting.

"Do you mean to tell me that Dumbledore put the child with Petunia Evans of all people?!“ The restrained anger in Severus’ voice makes him look up and he holds out the bottle to him wordlessly.

“Yeah. I don’t know if he was aware of what they were doing, but he had a bloody spy living in the neighbourhood and was his magical guardian, so either way, it’s outrageous.” He glances at Severus out of the corner of his eye, uncertain about bad-mouthing Dumbledore in his presence.

“Honestly, I’m still impressed that he’s not completely messed up,” he says instead. “He’s terribly smart, I constantly have to drag him away from his books and he’s practically begging me for more tutoring. I think you would like him.”

Severus pulls a face but apparently, his curiosity is stronger because he asks: "Did he say he managed an advanced Shield Charm when he came barging into the room? Do you think it's smart to already let him have a wand?“

Regulus stares into the ember liquid for a few seconds and thinks about what to say. "It's not my secret to tell, but he doesn't have wand.“

"Are you telling me he does, what? _Wandless_ advanced Shield Charms?“

He just shrugs in response, grinning proudly over the rim of his glass.

"Why an advanced Shield Charm of all things?“

"I never said it was the only thing he did wandlessly, did I?“

Severus shakes his head at him but changes the topic. "What house do you think he'll be in? That facial mask he pulled up as soon as he saw me was remarkable,“

"Slytherin, through and through,” Regulus smirks, knowing that it’s not what Severus wants to hear. “He told me he thought about convincing the hat to put him into Hufflepuff because then everybody would just overlook him, but I don't think even he could convince the hat of that.“

"Dumbledore will have kneazles, you know that, right? Not only about him becoming a Slytherin, but also living with _you_ , being as advanced as you make him out to be.“

"Sev...-“

"I'm not going to tell him, that's not what I meant. He brought that onto himself and I simply didn't know, what can I do if you never told me? He’ll blame you when he goes into Slytherin and for everything that might not go as he planned it out to go.“

"Yeah, I know. I do know what I'm doing, you know?” he smiles softly, relaxing a bit. He knows that Severus will keep his word of keeping this to himself. “By then he’ll be living with me for over two years though. The Goblins have evidence of all the neglect and abuse and that Dumbledore never checked on him, and he'll have to be careful if he doesn't want that and his own prejudices about Slytherins coming to light. And even if I'm not throwing my name and money around as much as Lucius does, I'm still Lord Black and I will fight tooth and nail for Hadrian. He's like a little brother to me, I won't give him up because Dumbledore doesn't like that he's not his personal poster boy.“

Severus inclines his head in acknowledgement, and after hesitating for a few seconds asks reluctantly: "And what if _He_ comes back Reg? What then?“

Regulus inhales sharply because that’s a topic they rarely touch, but he just answers calmly: "Then nothing, Sev, it's still the same. If Har wants to run, we'll run, if he wants me to beg the Dark Lord for his life, I'll beg him 'till I'm hoarse, if he wants to fight him, I'll fight with him. Hell, even if he wants to fight _for_ him for whatever reason. I'd rather die than give him up, it doesn't matter if to Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. I knew what I got myself into when I started caring for him a year ago and I won't let him down.“

Severus just smiles slightly and squeezes his shoulder, both of them falling into companionable silence, until the door creaks open and Atana makes her way over to Regulus. How she manages to move the heavy oak doors is anyone’s guess. She climbs up his legs and curls around his shoulders, completely ignoring the other man in the room.

"Reg... Do I want to know why there's a Black Mamba curled around you?“

Regulus laughs, idly running his fingers over her head. Of course she had to make an appearance after he already rattled Severus enough for one evening. "That's Atana, she's Har's familiar. He's a Parselmouth.“

Without a word, Severus chugs down his whiskey and promptly refills his glass. “You know,” he finally says, after he emptied half of his refill, “I only came by to ask you for some Boomslang skin because some students got into my storage again, but alright.”

After a short pause of staring at the snake that still ignores him, he adds: "Do you think she'd part with a bit of her venom?“

He grins, relieved that he takes all this news he involuntarily sprung on him tonight in stride. "I'll ask Har to ask her. While she kind of likes and even understands me, I'd rather not try myself. I have some bottles of antidote stored in the lab on the off-chance of an accident, but I'm not going to test my luck.“

Thankfully, there aren’t any more surprises that night and Severus leaves after finishing his whiskey, forgetting all about Boomslang skin between slight intoxication and a whole lot of new revelations.

* * *

After Hadrian got over his shock of suddenly finding a stranger in his home, they settle back into their comfortable routine. They spend the Yule holidays in Greece where they celebrate a traditional ritual with hundreds of other witches and wizards at the acropolis in Athens.

They’re back in London for Regulus’ birthday on the 4th of January, and after hours of flying at Black Manor, they’re now holed up in front of the fire in the library with hot chocolate, coffee, and birthday cake courtesy to Kreacher. They sit on the floor, with their backs against the sofa and a blanket over them, Hadrian leaning his head against Regulus’ shoulder.

He gets pulled out of his content daze when Hadrian suddenly says: "Did you know that your magic feels a bit like a stormy spring day? It's mostly dark, and it's strong of course, but it's also refreshing and calming and _alive_ at the same time. I don't understand how anyone can equate dark magic with evil when there are so many people with light or grey magic that feel much more… I don’t know, _uncomfortable_.“

Regulus cranes his neck to look down at the boy next to him, surprised not only by the fact that he can sense magic but also with the description. "Well, nobody said people are very smart. Could you always sense magic?“

"Hmm, true. Well, when I visited Diagon for the first time I was able to sense that there’s a lot of magic in the place, but it keeps getting stronger. I think I can differentiate the type of magic by now but to describe it like yours I have to spend time with a person, otherwise it gets mixed up. I suppose it has to do with the fact that I learned to keep my own magic under control early on and by now can keep it mostly masked if I want to.“

"Yeah, that makes sense. With your natural talent for Legilimency and Occlumency, being sensitive to others’ magic is kind of logical. Now that I think of it, do you keep your magic masked at home as well? I don't have a natural sensitivity but because I'm fairly proficient at Legilimency I should actually feel it when I concentrate.“

"I mostly do, simply for getting used to it for when I'm going to Hogwarts. I suspect that my magic isn't completely light, maybe not even grey, and I'd rather not let anyone know without deciding to do so. I can unmask it if you want to?“

Regulus nods, curious how much of a difference it would make. Sensing magic without a natural disposition isn't easy, but he was trained in mind-magic from a young age, so with enough concentration, it still works.

Hadrian straightens up, dislodging the blanket a bit in the process, and closes his eyes, a crease forming between his brows as he focuses. After a few seconds, Regulus starts to notice a difference, the air around them becoming thicker and a cold sensation washing over his skin. While Hadrian is still too young for his magic to be settled on one point of the spectrum, he definitely seems to have a darker core, not that it surprises Regulus much.

"Well, to stay within your metaphor, I'd say your magic feels like a night in winter. It's cold, but also very soothing and calm and… - I don't know, sharp maybe? It's hard to describe. I get more of short impressions and then lose the thread again. Your core isn't settled enough yet to label you as dark, light or grey, but I think anyone sensing your magic would predict something between grey and dark. It will depend on what you're going to use.“

Hadrian smiles softly, cuddling back into his side and says: "I like that.“

* * *

Death is very satisfied with the developments of the last 2 years. He wouldn't admit this to his little protégé but he’s self-aware enough to know that, while he can teach him a lot and even offer the occasional bony hug, he’s no replacement for any and all human contact. As little as he cares for mortals in general, children need more than a sarcastic teacher. And he couldn't have wished for a better counterpart than Regulus Black.

He and Hadrian are alike in a lot of things, like their thirst for knowledge, their wit and sarcasm, with an inclination to be wary of others and being manipulative if necessary. Regulus seriously cares about the child without any hidden motives and would doubtlessly become vicious if needs must. He lets him have his independence and self-determination, while still looking out for him, and together with those portraits in the house teaches him a lot of human stuff that simply goes over Death’s head.

If Regulus didn’t become a part of Hadrian’s life, he’d still be smart and skilled when starting Hogwarts, but he’d be a lot more insecure and averse to social interactions, with a coldness and reticence hard to mask. While he’ll probably never be a social butterfly or rely much on others, he’s more confident and self-assured and learns that charm can go a long way in reaching his goals.

He no longer exclusively lives in books and stories but has seen a little bit of the world, that not everybody means him harm and is developing a realistic sense of his own strengths and limits.

So yes, Death is quite satisfied; however, some worries remain. He knows that Hadrian would take the secret of their strange relationship to his grave if he asked him to, but it will only become more difficult to explain certain things. Regulus has already shown an astonishing amount of patience, never pushing for answers about how Hadrian knew he was a wizard in the first place, where most of his knowledge comes from or the circumstances of the Dursley’s fear – accidental magic only goes so far, after all. And that’s only the least of his worries.

He’ll be starting Hogwarts in a year, and with that, it’s time to tell him more about Voldemort not being gone for good and how, why he even came after the Potter’s, and Dumbledore’s involvement and plans to shape him into the perfect little saviour. That also means explaining the reason for Voldemort’s insanity and, finally, why he came into the favour of Death’s companionship in the first place.

Death didn’t foresee Regulus’ entanglement into all of this, but by now he sees it as a chance. It’ll be a lot to take in for Hadrian, but Death is convinced that knowledge, however uncomfortable, is always better than getting surprised. Regulus would not only understand but also be able to help, which is a better outcome than he could have hoped for.

At the beginning he hasn't been so sure, worrying that Regulus might try to rope Hadrian into his quest of restoring Toms sanity without taking Hadrian’s own wishes and goals into account. No matter how well that would align with Death’s and Fate’s own hopes, if Hadrian decides not to bother, to maybe just flee the country or even to destroy Tom before he can return, then they would grudgingly accept that.

But after watching Regulus interact with Hadrian for some months now and listening to his conversation with the potions master, he’s certain that the young Black Lord will do whatever is best for Hadrian.

As tedious as mortals often are, their loyalty still manages to amaze him from time to time.

* * *

A few weeks after Hadrian’s 10th birthday Death appears in his room after breakfast. His animals, long used to his presence, just ignore him while Hadrian smiles and gestures to his armchair.

Never one for social niceties, Death gets directly to his point. "You should tell Regulus about me, little one.“

As expected, Hadrian just gapes at him for a few seconds. "Are you mad? - Wait, don't answer that, I know you are, but did you hit your head or something? Why in Merlin’s name should I tell Reg about you? He would probably think _I'm_ mad!“

Death snorts, shaking his head. "Well, maybe at the beginning but then I'd come, and we would all have a nice little chat about matters we need to discuss. I wouldn't be saying this if I wasn't sure about it, you know?“

"Not to be inconsiderate or anything, but you’re aware that most people don't think of 'Death' and 'having a nice little chat' in the same sentence, like, ever, aren't you? What do you even want to discuss with both of us?“

"Stuff,“ Death shrugs, and at the deadpan look he receives at his admittedly very vague comment sighs and elaborates. "Before you go to Hogwarts, I plan on telling you a lot of important things about Voldemort, Dumbledore and yourself. There are two reasons why I think you should tell Regulus about me. If you don't, you won't be able to talk to him about any of it because there’s no way for you to explain how you even know about this, which will put a strain on your relationship. You'd be miserable because you see it but can't fix it, and he'd be miserable because he won't know what he did wrong. That would be stupid, considering that he'll want and be able to help.”

He can see that Hadrian wants to say something but raises his hand to stop him. “He’s already aware of some of the things I'll be talking about and has worked the last few years on a solution. He'd give up everything for you, but if he can only guess what it is that you want because _you can't talk to him,_ there are so many chances for misunderstandings and chaos that it makes even my head hurt. So, do me a favour, stop angsting all over the place like a teenager you not even are yet and just talk to him, I promise you that he won't let you down.“

Hadrian is silent for a while and Death lets him think, while Atana leaves her stone by the windows and curls around him. _$The cloaked one is right hatchling; you should tell him. What's the worst that can happen?$_

_$Yeah, what's the worst that can happen...$_ he replies weakly.

_$He made an oath, and we both know he meant it. Just talk to him, you'll see.$_

"Do you know where in the Department of Mysteries Regulus works?“ Death interrupts the hissed conversation, gathering from it that Hadrian might need a bit more reassurance.

He mutely shakes his head, but there’s a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “The Death Chamber,” even Death can hear the smugness in his own voice. “Well, and researching soul magic, which is closely related. Anyway, I do understand your doubts about confronting him with me, but I think after he gets over his first shock, he’ll probably pester me until his death with questions. I’m less of an abstract concept to wizards than to Muggles. Granted, it’s extremely rare that I show up for anyone and they live to tell the tale but I'm sure he'll see it as the honour that it is eventually.“

Hadrian rolls his eyes at the last part of his statement, but he sighs and nods, "Alright, but if this goes wrong, I'll send Atana after you, just so we're clear. Give me a few days to think of a gentle way to break the news to him?“

Death inclines his head and takes his leave, knowing that Hadrian will need some time to come to terms with it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's by far the longest chapter yet, but it just wanted to come out like this and every attempt to split it up failed, so here you go!  
> Thanks for all the Kudos and Comments, it makes me so happy that you like this! :) 
> 
> A lot of talk, a lot of emotions. The poor boys.

Originally, Hadrian wanted to take a few days to figure out a strategy for telling Regulus about Death, but when dinner comes around he’s already a nervous wreck and he thinks that there might be no easy way to explain it.

After absently picking on his food for a while he drags Regulus into the library, who by now looks vaguely concerned at his untypical agitation.

He’s fidgeting and biting his lip, then huffs and asks: "So, you remember all the times you asked me how I… uh, knew stuff I couldn't possibly know, like strange historical facts or about creatures and plants that have died out a few hundred years ago? Or how I knew about magic and Diagon Alley and my advanced wandless magic and so on?“

Regulus nods slowly, confusion joining concern.

"You also know how nobody can explain, at all, how I survived the Killing Curse and supposedly vanished the Dark Lord in the process? Well, the thing is I didn't.” He grimaces, realising that he doesn’t make any sense, and rushes on. “I mean I do know all this stuff and obviously I survived and Voldemort is gone for the time being at least, but I have... - kind of a mentor, even if most people would find it weird to call him that, and I don't even know why exactly -“

"Har, calm down,“ Regulus interrupts him with furrowed brows, his eyes roaming over his face like he’s searching for signs of a fever or something.

"Well, it's Death,” he blurts out, frustration getting the better of him. At Regulus’ dumbfounded look he takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “When I was 4, he appeared in my cupboard, healed my broken wrist and ever since that day he's technically always there. He made sure that I didn't starve, scared my relatives shitless until they treated me at least with ignorance instead of active scorn, and taught me everything I know. Actually, he was with me since that Samhain night, he made the curse rebound onto Voldemort and saved me.”

He looks up from his clenched hands at Regulus, whose expression is caught between worry and disbelief. Unable to bear the silence, he keeps talking. “He's a sarcastic shit-head with absolutely no social skills but he told me stories, taught me about everything and how to practice my magic, removed the blocks Dumbledore put on my core and removed the blood-glamour. I know you probably think I'm barking mad right now, I told him this would happen, but I swear it's true. Actually, he said something about a 'little chat' if I'm not mistaken.”

He turns his gaze in the direction of the ceiling, adding a scowl for good measure. “So, your highness, can you please just show yourself, he already looks like he's completely dumbfounded so at least we don't have to repeat the process and I don't have to defend my sanity?!“

He has absolutely no clue how to explain this believably, he’s 10 for Merlin’s sake and Regulus probably thinks he has some kind of imaginary friend, or that he finally snapped and should go straight to the Janus-Thickney-Ward.

Thankfully, Death answers his pleas and gracefully sinks into the armchair opposite from the couch they’re sitting on.

"Good of you, you prat. Regulus, Death, Death, Regulus.“ he huffs, glaring at his long-time companion.

After long moments of silence, Regulus finally shakes himself out of his shock. “I – I honestly have no idea what to say. Wait! You’re the one that sent me that weird note one and a half years ago!“ he blurts out, instantly looking embarrassed, and while Hadrian is simply confused what he’s talking about, Death just laughs, which admittedly sounds more like a hundred rocks thundering down a cliff.

"I knew you had a quick mind, Regulus Black.“

"Fair enough. So, ah...- nice to meet you and all that?“

"I'm afraid I'm not really one for social skills as Hadrian so nicely put it, but I suppose it's nice to meet you too.“

Regulus still looks completely out of his depth which is a testament to the strangeness of the situation. It takes a lot to rattle him even on the worst of days, but then again, it might be a cause for concern if Death sitting in their library wouldn't get a notable reaction out of him.

"Maybe I should simply start with why I'm here?” Death asks, amusement clear in his voice. “Not even Hadrian is completely aware of the reason, only that I need to talk to both of you. Until now he was too young to learn about certain things, and for some he still is, but he needs to know before starting Hogwarts and I'd prefer you both to be on the same page. You'll most likely have a lot of questions but it's a long story so try to bear with me.“

They both nod and settle down. Hadrian realises only now that he’s apprehensive about what he’s going to learn, his nervousness over coming clean to Regulus overshadowed everything else until now. He’s just glad that Regulus is here with him. Atana is lying on the back of the couch with her head on his shoulder and her tail curled loosely around Regulus neck, and Death always has a calming effect on him anyway.

"First you need to know that Fate and I sometimes have a few… let’s say, favourites among the mortals, for whom we have some plans, though even we can't determine which path someone will take. Mostly, things work along those lines but it's more like seeing a lot of different possibilities than something certain, and involving ourselves in the running of events often causes more chaos than anything else. There’s also this annoying little thing called free will that you all hold so dearly.”

He pauses and waits until they both nod their understanding. “But there are a lot of living-beings, everything is interconnected and even the smallest occurrence can change everything in a heartbeat, so when there are certain... major disruptions, things can go awry. When that happens and it concerns one of her favourites, Fate sometimes comes up to make a deal with me. While I don't really bother with what's happening with you mortals as long as you die at a steady pace, it can also get kind of tedious, so I like to involve myself from century to century. I'm sure you heard of the Deathly Hallows, for example.”

Regulus makes a surprised noise next to him, while Hadrian only wonders where all this is going.

“In the last 50 years, there was _a lot_ of stuff going awry in your particular part of the world, circling around 2 people that both managed to irk both of us. One of them is Tom Riddle, who you would know as Voldemort. He was one of Fate’s chosen favourites, don't ask me why because she wouldn't tell me even if I asked.” Death grumbles something incomprehensible under his breath but then shakes his head as if to get rid of the thought.

“He grew up in an orphanage in London during a great economic crisis and the Second World War, and when he came to Hogwarts, he met Dumbledore, the other, even more irking character. Dumbledore was suspicious of him from the moment he met him at the orphanage. I never really bothered with the why, but it was a factor of pushing Tom onto the path he took. Now, I'm not saying Tom became a Dark Lord because of Dumbledore’s suspicions, and I wouldn't even care all that much if he _only_ became a Dark Lord, but Tom did something incredibly stupid, which lost him his sanity and earn him my irritation in one go.“

Hadrian feels Regulus stiffen beside him and Death gives him an acknowledging nod. "Yes, you know what I'm getting at. As a result of growing up in the war and probably a lot of other issues, Tom was frantic to find a 'cure' for his own mortality, as there is nothing he fears more than me, or at least what he associates with me.”

Anger bleeds into Death’s voice, and Hadrian absentmindedly realises that he never heard that tone before and that he could gladly live without ever doing so again. “One of the problems with your ban on certain kinds of magic is that information often is sparse at best, and too many wizards like to forget that they're not omnipotent. Especially attempts at immortality always come with a heavy price. What Tom did was to split his soul, and while one time probably wouldn't have mutilated him that badly, the idiot did it 5 times knowingly, the 6th time wasn't even on purpose.“

"6 times?!“ Regulus whispers faintly, and when Hadrian looks at him, he’s white as a sheet and his hands are shaking.

Death sighs but keeps talking, sounding more resigned than angry now. "Of course, fracturing the soul six times fucks you up, to put it simply. He started losing his sanity after the third time, a lot of control over his magic, his rational mind, and many things more. His original goals took a backseat, complex matters evaded him more and more, and his sole purpose became clinging to his power. Apart from all the chaos and destruction he caused, not only did he try to escape me in the most foolish and insulting way, he also increased my workload immensely, hence my irritation. But I'm getting off track.”

He stands up, slowly pacing in front of the hearth. Hadrian tries to gather his thoughts enough to process everything he’s hearing, without losing any of the questions his minds provides him with.

“Dumbledore didn't become a raging lunatic, but he still wasn't much better. After he defeated Gellert Grindelwald he quickly acquired a lot of power. You probably don't know this, but shortly after he finished school, he and Gellert became fast friends, and he was one of the first Gellert made his plans with for domination over Muggles and Wizards alike, before they had a, ah, 'falling out'.”

He comes to a halt in front of the window and pauses for a few seconds. Finally, he shakes his head and sighs, and Hadrian has a feeling that for once, Death doesn’t enjoy telling a story.

“Anyway, Dumbledore eventually took another way and tried reaching his goals through manipulation and subtle interferences. While painting himself as the champion for Creatures and Muggleborn’s, he never really changed anything noteworthy for them in his 50 years of power. Instead, he's moulding the minds of your children and sacrifices people in the shadows for his 'greater good', while keeping up a perfect public-image. Additionally, he's making grabby hands at my Hallows and I will be damned if he gets his fingers on more than he already has.”

“But, to come to the point of this whole odyssey,” he turns back around, gesturing like he wants to shove the last remark aside. “Before you were born, Hadrian, there was a prophecy made. The 'seer' in question is a complete fraud though and staged the 'prophecy' on her Job interview for the teacher post of Divination at Hogwarts. I think it went like this:

_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.'_

“Oh Salazar,” Regulus mutters next to him, while Hadrian mainly hears the fast beating of his heart. He can see now where this is going, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

"Now, every sensible person would have questioned the authenticity, but Dumbledore believed her and was ecstatic.” Death continues, ignoring their reaction. “Tom was crossing his plans because he was unable to stop him, but having someone _else_ stop him, then getting rid of the said someone and taking the glory for the defeat of another Dark Lord would practically hand him his goals on a silver platter. You have to remember that he's absolutely convinced that he does all this for what he sees as the 'Greater Good of the Wizarding World'. He's convinced that 'someone equal to the Dark Lord and with the power the Dark Lord knows not' would be too dangerous.”

Death’s agitation is palpable, his fingers tapping restlessly along the bookshelves, and Hadrian wonders if he might be able to back out of… all of it, really.

“So, he decided to help things along, because the whole prophecy would have been useless if Tom didn't find out about it, would it? He re-staged the Job-interview, including the uttering of the prophecy in a pub in Hogsmeade that's known for his shady clientele, and of course, one of Tom’s followers overheard it – only as much as Dumbledore wanted him to: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.. born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...',- just enough to feed into his endless paranoia and to send him into the right direction.”

Even without being able to see under the hood, he can sense Death’s eyes on him. “There were only two families the prophecy could have pointed at, and that was yours and the Longbottoms. Dumbledore didn't know which one Tom would choose but that would be a deciding factor, 'marking him as his equal', and so he anticipated the confrontation, calculating that after Tom chose his 'equal' it would be preferable for the parents to 'be out of the picture' anyway, as it would leave him with the perfect control over his future weapon.”

He sits back down into the armchair and sighs, and it’s like witnessing eons of existence weighing down on him. “And now it gets even more ugly, for both of you. The Potters went into hiding, using the Fidelius Charm with Sirius as their secret keeper, knowing that he would never betray them.“

Regulus scoffs, but Death just shakes his head tiredly.

"Dumbledore convinced Sirius to swap with Peter Pettigrew, arguing that Sirius could act as a decoy because nobody would ever guess Pettigrew to be the secret keeper. He expected from the start that Peter would crumble under the pressure sooner or later, the only thing that surprised him was _how fast_ Peter crumbled. But even that he used as an advantage, because apart from him, only Peter Pettigrew and Sirius knew about the change.”

Regulus goes stiff beside him, his hand clenching painfully around his wrist, but he ignores it, too many emotions to process coursing through him.

“When Sirius discovered the death of James and Lily Potter at Godric’s Hollow, he wanted to take Hadrian with him, but he got intercepted by Hagrid on Dumbledore’s order, who stated that he would take Hadrian to Hogwarts. In Hagrid’s defence, he thought that Sirius had betrayed the Potters, but still, he's very loyal to Dumbledore. In fact, you were taken directly to the Dursleys. Dumbledore knew they would hate your guts but stated in his letter to let no harm befall you, wanting you starved for affection but not so bitter that there was a chance of you 'turning dark', which is also one of the reasons he blocked a part of your magic. Because apparently, too much power is dangerous when your name isn't Albus Dumbledore. Anyway, after some arguing Sirius gave in in favour of going after Pettigrew. He found him somewhere in London, where the latter started screaming how Sirius betrayed Lily and James and then blew up the street, killing 12 Muggles in the process, cut off his finger and transformed into his form as a rat animagus, fleeing into the sewer and staying hidden ever since.“

Regulus jumped up before Death even finished, hands clenched at his sides and his whole body trembling. His face is white and contorted in fury and sorrow. "Are you telling me that my brother was rotting in Azkaban for the last 9 years, being innocent?!“

"Yes, I'm sorry.“

"And he knew, the old son of a motherfucking – he didn't even get a trial for Salazar’s sake!“ he snarls, pacing through the room while his magic is lashing out furiously.

Hadrian has never seen him this angry, but he understands. The whole story is an endless well of rage and incredulity, and he vows to himself then and there that he would make the old man pay. Even the Dursleys never managed to induce just an ounce of the fury that coils tightly in his stomach and makes him shake. Dumbledore is complicit in his parents’ death, in Sirius’ time in Azkaban – but worst of all, he’s responsible for the pain he can see clearly underneath Regulus’ own rage.

It may have been Voldemort who held the wand that killed his parents, but it was Dumbledore who orchestrated most of it, never facing any consequences.

He’s pulled out of his dark thoughts by Death standing up. "I'm afraid that's not even all of it, but I think we should continue this at another time.“ He bows his head slightly, squeezes Hadrian’s shoulder in passing and then he’s gone.

Atana is spitting madly next to him while Regulus still paces, one hand twisted into his hair and the other pressed against his mouth, his breathing shallow and his silver eyes wild. Pages of books that lie around are rustling with his magic whirling in the air and he looks like a caged animal, like he’s only a breath away from an attempt to storm Hogwarts.

Hadrian gets up from the couch and walks over to him, wordlessly wrapping his arms around his waist. A sob escapes Regulus and he buries his face in Hadrian’s hair while they both cling onto each other.

"I just let him rot in that godforsaken place.“ He sounds so desperate and self-contemptuous that it makes Hadrian’s chest ache and a new wave of fury crashes over him.

"We'll get him out of there, and then we'll make Dumbledore pay. The old man never should have crossed our family Reg, I _promise_ you that we'll make him pay.“

Regulus just keeps trembling and sobbing and raging, while Hadrian repeats again and again that it isn't his fault and that he couldn't have known, while simultaneously making a hundred plans on how to make the source of Regulus pain suffer as much as humanly possible.

Of course, this is also about his parents and Sirius, but while he’s thankful for their sacrifice for him and is sure that they loved him, they are more of an abstract concept that he values, while Regulus is _family_ and he _loves him_ and nobody dares to hurt the ones that he loves, that he considers _his.  
_

* * *

They fell asleep huddled together on the couch in the library, needing to be close to each other in the wake of the revelations Death dumped on them. Regulus is quiet during breakfast and he can still see the barely contained fury in the twitching of his jaw, the tightness in the corner of eyes and the tense way he holds himself.

They always skirted over the topic of Sirius. He suspects that there’s more to it than being on different sides of the war, and while he knows that the man is his godfather he never pushed, noticing the fleeting flickers of pain and anger in Regulus’ eyes whenever his brother comes up.

"Come on, let’s go to the duelling room. You need to get some of that anger out of your system,“ he says when they finish breakfast, both not having eaten much.

Regulus’ smile is small but grateful and they make their way up to the second floor. While he sets up some of the practicing dummies for himself, Hadrian takes a seat on the floor behind the magical barrier that flares up, content to watch for the moment.

Not that he’s not furious himself, but he isn’t advanced enough yet to let his steam off in a confrontation with the dummies, and he can at least get some second-hand satisfaction out of Regulus working through some of his frustration. He’ll ask Kreacher later to conjure him some crockery he can smash or something.

He already watched Regulus practicing a few times, and there has never been any doubt that he’s more than skilled with a wand. But as he watches now, dummies falling faster than they can repair themselves, the air singing with magic and an expression of cold, cold ferocity on Regulus’ face, it’s like he’s seeing him for the first time. It’s a blur of movement and lights, casting Regulus in strange shades and letting the whole thing appear nearly surreal.

If his magic normally feels like a stormy spring day, now it’s like standing in the middle of a raging thunderstorm that will only leave destruction in its wake.

After over an hour of powering himself out, Regulus drops to the floor next to him, panting slightly.

"Feel better?“ he asks, holding out a bottle of water to him.

"A little,” Regulus sighs, “I don't know. It's all a lot to take in and I fear what else there is. I knew Dumbledore was a manipulative bastard and Voldemort an insane fool, but I never imagined it to be that bad. And I don't even want to think about all the 'Fates favourites'-stuff, it makes my head hurt. How are you doing?“

"Kind of the same, I guess? I mean I knew that Dumbledore was the one who put me with the Dursleys and blocked some of my magic, and that he wants me to be some kind of Light-Saviour, but I didn't expect it to be such a shitload either.“

Regulus lips twitch and he mutters: "At least I now have an idea where you get your swearing from“

Hadrian covers his snort, unable to deny the truth of that statement, but he sobers quickly. "I think the Prophecy is ridiculous and I don't even _understand_ this whole soul-splitting-business Voldemort got himself into. I mean I knew that he's not really dead, but I can't wrap my head around it, to be honest. Who in Salazar’s name thinks that it would be a good idea to mutilate your very soul? Do you think anybody else knows about what he did? I mean, according to Death you at least already knew, didn't you?“

Regulus sighs, fiddling with the water-bottle in his hand and staring at the wall at the other side of the room. After a few minutes of silence, he says: "It's… very dark stuff. I think apart from us, nobody knows about it, maybe Dumbledore does, I'm not sure.”

He hesitates again and glances at him quickly. He then swallows and visibly steels himself, and when he talks again his voice is rough and strained. “When I was 18 and still very new to the Death Eaters, Voldemort asked for a house-elf for some kind of task… I let Kreacher go with him, ordering him to come back after they were finished. He took him to a cave and made him drink a potion to hide one of his Horcruxes. It was a horrible thing.“

He shudders, a faraway look in his eyes. "Kreacher made it back somehow, thank Salazar, but I suspect the Dark Lord intended for him to die there. I was already disappointed with how the Dark Lord worked at the time, but Kreacher... You know, I heard a lot of stories about Voldemort growing up, about his original goals and how charming and intelligent he was, but all I could see was a crazy, power-hungry, megalomaniac monster that tortured and killed everyone left and right, no matter if follower or enemy.”

He smiles ruefully, but it disappears quickly. “When Kreacher told me what he knew about the locket I had an idea what it was, and my first impulse was to go to the cave and destroy it, no matter the consequences. You know, as dark as this family is, there are things even we won't touch and I only knew about it in terms of warning, to keep my hands off that particular branch of magic. Soul-magic is... - well to say it's dangerous would be a vast understatement.”

He swallows again and even his restless fiddling with the empty bottle can’t hide the slight trembling of his hands. Hadrian thinks that he has never seen him so agitated before and feels utterly helpless.

“I started researching how to destroy something so vile. Along the way, I found out that the Dark Lord’s insanity was most likely a result of making Horcruxes. I already had the suspicion that he made more than one, but I wouldn’t have thought that he made _six_. Fucking idiot…” Regulus scoffs, contempt written all over his face.

"Anyway,” he shakes his head, “it explained a lot and… it got me thinking. What if there was a way to restore his sanity? I know you probably think I'm crazy, why not just find the Horcruxes, destroy them and rid the world of Voldemort? But after everything I heard growing up, I saw his primary goals and the way he originally went about achieving them as a real chance for our world. It wasn't always about blatant pureblood supremacy or the eradication of Muggles. He wanted a stronger separation to secure our world, wanted education for Muggleborn’s and other magical children before they started Hogwarts, to bring back our traditions and stop the ban of everything that isn't considered light.”

For the first time since he started, he looks at Hadrian, his eyes full of pleading as if to beg him not to condemn him for what he did. Hadrian smiles faintly and leans against him but otherwise stays silent. Not only is he clueless about what to say, he also feels like Regulus is far from finished.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Regulus takes a deep breath and continues, his eyes closed now, and his head leaned back against the wall. “What good would it have been if I managed to get the locket, but died in the process, without anybody else knowing about it? There wasn’t anyone I would’ve trusted enough to share my discoveries with, except maybe Kreacher and while he's loyal to the core, he could have been ordered to tell after my death. There would have been nobody to find and destroy the other Horcruxes. Or be as mad as I am and try to find a different solution. And honestly, I don't know what's more complicated, destroying him for good or finding a different solution.” He laughs, a hollow sound full of self-contempt that makes Hadrian’s heart ache.

“I somehow managed to convince him to let me take the job offer from the Department of Mysteries because that was the only way I could think of for a better opportunity to research. At that time, he was very fixated on something in the Department, the prophecy I suppose. He even removed my mark, which I think is unprecedented. After that, I went to that blasted cave with Kreacher, it was horrible.” His voice breaks and the trembling of his hands increases, spreading over his whole body.

Hadrian presses closer, at a loss how to offer any form of comfort. It takes a few minutes until Regulus continues. “I'm not going to tell you in any detail because honestly, I still have nightmares about that day, and it was more than 10 years ago.”

While it sounds like a phrase, Hadrian doesn’t doubt for a second that it’s true and he’s indecisive if he even wants to know what happened in that cave.

“Thankfully, at that point the Dark Lord was arrogant to a fault and didn't consider putting up wards against elf-magic, so Kreacher was able to apparate us in, I drank the potion, swapped the locket for a fake, and he apparated us back out. If I hadn't had that crazy, daft idea of somehow 'fixing' the Dark Lord, I probably would have ordered Kreacher to take the locket and destroy it while dying in that cave. It took nearly six months to recover from the potion and if I would have been still in active service, he surely would’ve noticed what I did.”

He shudders, and then visibly pulls himself together, flashing Hadrian a weak smile. “I don't know, I still think that I survived is nothing short of a miracle and dumb luck, and if he didn’t vanish shortly after, I probably wouldn't have. Fortune favours fools and all that.“

He falls silent, then, and Hadrian leans his head on his shoulder in quiet support. He doesn’t think that there’s anything appropriate for him to say and his thoughts are racing with everything he learned within the last 24 hours. Really, it’s all a bit too much and he can feel a headache coming in.

Then again, there are still many questions that he wants answers to, from Regulus as well as from Death. Finally, he asks: “Did you find a solution?“

Regulus eyes roam over his face quickly and then he sighs. "Well, yes and no, really. If he didn’t lose his body, the only way to reabsorb his Horcruxes would have been willingly and I think the chances for that are non-existent. And now, it's… complicated. Most importantly, I would need all of his Horcruxes _and_ his probably roaming wraith, and then do a complex ritual. And while I was crazy enough to think about finding a solution, I'm not sure if I'm actually willing to bring him back.”

He grimaces, and Hadrian has a feeling he knows where this is going. “But then, it’s most likely only a matter of time until he comes back anyway, and I’d really prefer him to be sane when he does, so I really don’t know. I suppose it's something your, ah, _companion_ could probably help me with.“

As if planned, which it probably was, Death appears in front of them, causing Regulus to jump. Hadrian snorts, effectively disrupted in his sombre thoughts, and earns himself a mock glare from Regulus.

"I not only could, I will, for more than one particular reason. I think I should probably finish my tale.“

Regulus sighs wearily, and Hadrian isn't particularly eager for more shocking revelations either. They both know that ignoring it won’t help though, so he just accepts the headache that’s obviously unavoidable.

"As I told you yesterday, the prophecy Dumbledore sees as so important could have been about either of two children; you or Neville Longbottom. After Tom attacked your family, Dumbledore concluded of course that it was you he chose. Now, unfortunately, and I'm very sorry about this, when the Killing Curse rebounded, Tom’s already more than fractured soul splintered again and the broken fragment attached itself onto the next living-being in the room, namely you.“

Hadrian feels numb and cold all of a sudden, every coherent thought leaves him, and he hears the blood rushing in his ears. He can see his own horror reflected on Regulus’ face, who appears to be as speechless and overwhelmed as he is.

"Can't you... I don't know, can't you _fix it_ or something?!“ he exclaims slightly hysterical when he finally finds his voice. He may not hate Voldemort as much as people expect him to, is even strangely fascinated with his earlier ways really, but that absolutely doesn't mean he wants a _piece of his fucking soul_ residing in himself.

Death clearing his throat pulls him out of his spiralling thoughts and he realises only now that Regulus is squeezing his hand so tightly it borders on painful.

"It's complicated, to say the least. The only way to rid yourself of the soul piece right now would be if you died. While that wouldn't be permanent as you won't die until you want to, the piece would be lost, which is counterproductive if you want to restore Tom’s soul.”

He pauses, probably to let them process this, but Hadrian is still reeling from the news that he _can’t die_ when he goes on. “The only other possibility is to extract it, but that is so terribly painful, not to mention taxing on your magic and mind, that it would send you into a coma at best, or damage your core so much that your magic becomes permanently unstable at this age. I'll be able to do that once your magic completely settles between 18 and 20, but consider this,”

Death breaks off again until they both nod their continued attention, which is getting harder and harder if he’s honest. “I isolated the piece from the rest of your soul, so while I completely understand your aversion, it doesn't influence or does anything to you. And should Tom find a way to get resurrected right now, as insane as he is, your status as a Horcrux would be the only thing keeping him from trying to kill you. Apart from that, when Dumbledore took you to the Dursleys he also discovered that at least something of Voldemort transferred onto you. He doesn't know exactly _what_ it is, but he knows that Tom isn't gone for good, and he practically plans on you doing the dirty work, either weakening Tom, dying in the process so Dumbledore can deliver the final blow, or you delivering the final blow and then getting offed inconspicuously by Dumbledore.”

“What the hell,” Hadrian mutters, feeling like the only thing keeping him in the present is Regulus’ hands clutching his.

Death makes an affirmative noise which sounds more like stone grinding against stone and echoes loudly in the room. “Dumbledore is more convinced that you will need to die at Tom’s hands, as that is how he interpreted _'and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives',_ so it's not only your life insurance in terms of an insane Tom but also for the time when Dumbledore finally discovers that you're not planning to do as he wants you to.”

Regulus opens his mouth to say something, but Death raises a hand to stop him. “If I extracted the soul piece from you and Dumbledore found out that the connection he thinks responsible for your prophesied demise at each other’s hands is gone, without a reasonable explanation, I'm not sure if he would keep from 'sacrificing' you if he considers you dangerous. All it would need for him to find out is a relatively simple revealing-spell. And like I said, he _already_ considers you potentially dangerous, not even knowing that you won't dance to his tune. Prophesied with a power the Dark Lord knows not, a strong magical core and dark magic oozing from your scar that Samhain was enough for him to put blocks on your magic, now imagine what he will do when he realises that he has no control over you and that Tom isn't the one that has to kill you any longer.”

They stay silent now, thinking it over and probably both coming to the same, daunting conclusion. “And while you, as I said, won't die as long as you don't want to, awakening from the dead is something not only Dumbledore would find suspicious and would entail a whole lot of undesirable consequences if discovered, that you should avoid as much as possible. I know this is all terribly fucked up and way too much to put onto your shoulders, but you need to know this when you're going to be in the old man’s presence more or less constantly.“

"Didn't you say something about me being a favourite of Fate's? I feel more like being her punching bag or something,“ he mutters under his breath, fighting the urge to cry and scream and wreak havoc at the unfairness that seemed to be his life.

"Well, and that's the reason why I'm here. As I said yesterday, things don't always play out as planned and Dumbledore is one of the main reasons for that. So I decided to involve myself to try and fix at least some of the damage, and while I can't simply change what is happening, I was and will be able to train you, give you all the information you need and even the playground, so to speak.“

"So, what are we supposed to do?!“ The use of we in Regulus' statement manages to calm at least some of his panic that only grows the more he processes of Death’s most recent info-dump. Knowing that he’s not alone in this, knowing that not only Death but also Regulus is there with him finally makes him tear up. He buries his head into Regulus’ shoulder who instantly wraps his arms around him, and he and Death wait silently until he calms down again.

"I can't tell you exactly what to do,” Death sighs when he finally looks back up, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “I can help you to find the remaining Horcruxes and keep an eye out for any attempts to resurrect Tom in his current state. I think it would be best to delay his come-back as long as possible, it would throw Dumbledore off. He expects him to return while Hadrian is at Hogwarts and the later in his schooling that happens, the smaller Dumbledore’s possibility to interfere with whatever you decide to do. Provided you don’t decide to simply destroy the Horcruxes.”

“We can decide that later,” Regulus nods and gestures for Death to continue. Hadrian is content to just stay silent; he feels like his brain might combust if he tries to think too hard about anything right now.

“As for Dumbledore, I'll keep an eye on him as well, but as long as Tom doesn't return as insane as he was, I think there won't be too much to worry about for the time being. I don't think you have to put on an act as long as you don't proclaim any sympathies to the dark. While he’s manipulative and does sacrifice others for his own ends, as long as he doesn't see you as an acute danger he'll only try to influence. It's not an ideal situation in any way, but I suppose it’s better than having to play a role that isn't you at all and you have the advantage of knowing what he’s up to, while he has no idea that you know.”

Hadrian groans, putting his head into his head and laughing frantically, while Regulus runs his fingers through his hair.

"Salazar this is all so messed up,“ he says after getting himself back under control. He’s suddenly so very tired, barely able to keep his eyes open and leaning more heavily against Regulus. For now, all the anger seems to have left him, his thoughts whirling while his head pounds something fierce.

Regulus only gives an affirmative grunt, probably not faring much better and asks: "Not to be ungrateful or anything, but are that all the shocking things you have to throw at us? Because I think we both can't take much more and I really, _really_ need to try to sort through this massive pile of fucked-up information.“

Death makes something close to a snort and nods. "Yes, I think that's it for now. If you have any questions just let me know, as I said, I'm aware it's a lot, but in the end, the truth will only help you.“

Regulus sighs and nods, standing up and pulling Hadrian with him. He sways on his feet and after Death squeezes his shoulders and disappears, Regulus practically has to carry him into his bed. He’s already half asleep when his head hits the pillow, and the last thing he notices is Atana curling around him.

* * *

The next few days the atmosphere at Grimmauld Place is slightly oppressive, but Regulus is as practical as he is, and after taking some time to come to terms with all the things they learned, they get down to planning.

Regulus writes down everything they know, separates it into categories and then they try to find the best course of action for each of them.

He insists that the most pressing matter is to find evidence for Sirius’ innocence, even more so than the remaining Horcruxes. It’s not mainly because he’s his godfather, or because the thought of someone being in Azkaban makes him uneasy, but because he can’t get the memory of Regulus’ breakdown out of his mind. He might not admit it out loud, but it’s obvious that it’s wearing on Regulus.

Still, they agree that it’s prudent to collect the remaining Horcruxes as soon as possible. After a lot of thinking and talking it through, they also decide to take the risk of resurrecting Voldemort but to delay it as much as possible. The main reason is that, while they could destroy the Horcruxes, it wouldn’t prevent the main soul from being resurrected as insane as he has been before his downfall. A sane Tom Riddle would present a chance against Dumbledore should they ever need it, and if he wasn’t sane, well – at least he would be mortal.

The knowledge about the soul piece residing within himself still made him squirm and want to flee his own skin. He dreamt more than once about a voice whispering things to him or imagined his scar to itch, no matter how impossible that is. Still, he trusted Death that it’s isolated and the rational part of him could see the advantages that came with leaving it for now.

Regulus disliked the whole thing just as much, but they agree not to test his luck with dying, no matter how easy Death made it sound, so in the end there isn’t anything they can do about it.

Besides all that, he’s resolved to follow Death’s advice to not play a role when he’s starting school next year. He’s dreading the whole thing enough already; being under Dumbledore’s thumb, the company of a few hundred children, giving up a lot of his freedom – he doesn’t think he’ll be able to act like a completely different person, added to the weight of being seen as the ‘boy-who-lived.’

Dumbledore would watch and try to manipulate him either way, so there would be little use in straining himself beyond limit. As long as he’s careful to not show just how much he actually knows and what he intends to do, he should be fine.

Working through the whole mess with a plan in mind helps them both to regain a sense of normality, but Regulus still decides that they need a change of scenery. They travel through Spain for three weeks, leaving all thoughts on Dark Lord’s, meddling Headmasters and Horcruxes behind. When they return to London, they’re both calmer and finally able to fall back into their routines, only now sometimes joined by Death, who, as expected, has to answer _many_ of Regulus’ questions.

Regulus retrieves the Resurrection Stone from the Gaunt Shack and Hufflepuffs Cup from Bellatrix’ vault. It’s a lucky coincidence that she stored it in her Black vault; as the Head of her family and with her being in Azkaban, he only has to sign a few forms to be allowed entrance.

Hadrian will get Ravenclaw’s Diadem when he starts Hogwarts and they would think of a way to get the Diary when the time is right. With most of the Horcruxes now at Grimmauld’s, they both feel a lot calmer already.

* * *

They’re currently sitting in the library, Hadrian immersed in a book on potions and Regulus going over his list, thinking over the progress they made in the last few months. From time to time, Hadrian looks up and talks to Atana in low, hissing noises but otherwise the silence is only interrupted by the cracks of the burning logs.

Surprisingly, proving Sirius’ innocence turns out to be the most complicated task, and Regulus is becoming less and less patient the longer they are without a plan. Over 6 months have passed, and they made no progress to talk of.

As Lord Black, he could simply demand a trial but with Dumbledore as Chief Warlock and without any evidence it wouldn’t get them far. The only thing in their favour right now would be a statement from Sirius under Veritaserum, which, after 9 years in Azkaban, has little value. Not to mention that a trial will pull attention to them that would make it unlikely to conceal his guardianship of Hadrian, and while he argued that he doesn’t care, that proving Sirius’ innocence is more important, Regulus knows it’s not worth it if they’re not going to win. Besides, if they lost the trial once it would be close to impossible to argue for a re-examination of the verdict.

According to Death, their best bet would be to find Peter Pettigrew, who is hiding somewhere in his Animagus form. But even for Death it’s impossible to find out where exactly the traitorous rat is.

Regulus couldn't attempt to gather much information either, much less visit. It would lead to a _lot_ of questions once it came out that Hadrian lives with him and he had visited his 'believed-to-be' Death Eater brother, who’s also said child’s godfather. He'd lose guardianship faster than he could swear an oath of _not_ being a supporter of the Dark Lord. All in all, it’s a hopeless, infuriating dilemma.

He and Sirius haven't been on good terms since he was sorted into Slytherin, and his feelings regarding his brother only grew into an even bigger mess of anger, disappointment, and bitterness when he ran away to James Potter and _just left him_ with their mother, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not despairing over the fact that his brother is rotting in Azkaban, innocent. Hell, he doesn’t wish that on the people that are rightly there, but it has been a whole of a lot easier to think he couldn't do anything to help his brother anyway, that Sirius made his own bed by betraying the Potters and now has to lie in it, than knowing he has been set up. The stupid idiot.

While he knew that there has never been a trial, he always assumed that the evidence simply had been overwhelming. It still didn’t feel right, but Regulus never saw the advantage of putting both Sirius and him through the pain of a public confirmation of something everybody knew already. Now that decision is tearing at him more than anything.

How in Salazar’s name are they supposed to find the bloody rat? And why, _why_ did Sirius and the Potters think it was a good idea to change the secret keeper without anyone but Dumbledore knowing? It would have been safe with the Goblins at least –

At the last bit of his train of thought, Regulus shoots up from his armchair, startling Hadrian and Atana in the process.

"Do you know if your parents’ will has ever been read?!“ he asks urgently, a flicker of hope flickering in his chest.

Hadrian cocks his head and frowns, his fingers tapping against his book. "I'm not sure, I don't think it was. I may be wrong, but I think when I was eight Draknog said something about Dumbledore sealing it after their death. He also told me that magic didn't deny Sirius the right of guardianship, which would have happened if he had been guilty, but that it wouldn't be enough to prove his innocence.“

Regulus slaps his hand against his forehead and falls back into his chair. "I'm an idiot, I should have thought of that a lot sooner. We can't really do anything about it right now because I didn't adopt you, only have guardianship, but when you turn 11 we can demand the will to be read and I just pray to Merlin and Morgana that your parents were as smart as they appeared and at least stated in their will who was their secret keeper. That would be a lot easier than finding that blasted rat.“

Hadrian hums in acknowledgement but seems kind of hesitant, as he often does when Sirius comes up.

"If you're not ready for hearing the last will of your parents we surely can ask the Goblins to only look for the part of the secret keeper, I'm sure-“

"No that's not-, I don't care about my parents!“ Hadrian bursts out, then obviously realises what he just said, causing his eyes to widen guiltily. "I mean, I do care about my parents, kind of at least, but that’s not-“ he breaks off again, grimaces and stares into the flickering flames.

Regulus is a bit gobsmacked, it’s rare that Hadrian gets so emotionally aggravated that it’s written all over his face and he couldn't find his words.

After a few moments, he visibly gathers himself and without looking up he asks softly: "Do you think he'll want me to live with him?“

Regulus could have smacked himself because of course he would worry about Sirius not wanting him, he should have thought of that. Ignoring the part of himself that hurts at the thought of Hadrian leaving for living with Sirius, he says: "Of course he will, I'm sure if he's able to recover from the Dementors, and my brother is so stubborn it's actually more a question of when than if, it'll probably be one of the first things he’ll want to set right.“

Hadrian’s head whips up and he stares at him with so many raw emotions in his eyes that Regulus couldn't even begin to decipher them all. He then jumps up without a word and quickly leaves the room, soon followed by the sound of a door slamming. Atana hisses at him and he could swear she’s scowling. Soon she gives up though and disappears as well, making him feel like he just missed something important.

After mulling the short conversation over in his head a few times and finding nothing that could have provoked this outburst, he goes up the stairs and knocks at Hadrian’s door but there’s no answer.

He presses his hands against his eyes and takes a deep breath to rein in his own emotions. He ponders to just enter but decides to give him some time, instead making his way outside for a cigarette.

Until now he never considered the chance of Sirius claiming guardianship as soon as he could – what he said is true though. Sirius would fight to recover, he’s stubborn like that, even if it might take a year or two.

He leans his head back against the rough wall of the house, blowing smoke into the grey, starless night sky of London. Of course Hadrian wants to live with his godfather, with someone who knew his parents, who went all the way and blood-adopted him. All he could hope for is that Sirius would still let him see him.

"Honestly, for someone normally relatively smart you can be astoundingly stupid.“

He whirls around at the sound of Death’s gravelly voice. The being normally only talks to him when Hadrian is present.

"And what's that supposed to mean?“ He can't keep the frustration and anger from creeping into his voice, he _really_ isn't in the best of moods. He wants Sirius out of prison yesterday, but since he realised that it will also mean losing Hadrian, there’s a part of him, admittedly a small one but still there, that hopes that Sirius won't be fit to raise a child, and that makes him feel a hundred times worse than he already does.

Death laughs at him, which honestly doesn't help, and he fights hard against the urge to reach for his wand. Not that it would do him any good against _Death_ , but he’s itching to hex something or someone right now.

"Do you honestly think that he asked if Sirius would want him to live with him because he can't wait to move in with someone he doesn't even know, just because his parents named that person his godfather? Did you never notice that his parents are a rather vague idea for him, instead of something he longs for? Don't you think he would ask more questions about them if that was the case? Did you forget how long it took him to trust you, did you never notice that the main reason he cares for Sirius’ freedom is that it's hurting _you_?“

His anger evaporates and he stares for the few seconds it takes him to process the meaning behind the words. As soon as he does, he hits his head back against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. "Merlin I'm an idiot. And I basically told him that Sirius would take him away as soon as possible.“

"Yes, I’m glad you finally got there. Now, go and clean up the mess you made.“ Regulus feels like a chastised child and swears he hears Death mutter about stupid mortals before he disappears.

He runs a hand through his hair and vanishes the remains of his cigarette, then forcibly pulls himself together. When he arrives back at Hadrian’s door, he simply unlocks it and sits down on the side of the bed, ignoring Atana’s baleful stare.

"Hey kiddo, I'm sorry. When you asked me if Sirius would want you to live with him, I thought you’re asking because you were afraid that he wouldn't. I didn’t mean that I want you to leave, you know? You're not the only one who's sometimes… unsure about this whole thing and Sirius was always the one of us more open and more fun, so I just… I don’t know, I assumed that you would _want_ to live with your godfather, the person your parents chose to look after you.“

Hadrian turns towards him, eyes red-rimmed and hair a mess. "So, you don't want me to leave?“

"Of course not Har, to be completely honest the idea of you leaving bothers me just as much as you apparently.“

Hadrian throws his arms around him and he immediately hugs him back, burying his face in the curls. Sometimes it’s too easy to forget that he’s still a child, no matter how far ahead of his age group he acts most of the time.

"I don't want to live with anybody else, I don't care if my parents named him my godfather. Nothing against your brother, but they also named Peter Pettigrew as their secret keeper and look how that turned out.“

Regulus chokes because while it’s kind of true, it’s also strange how aloof Hadrian is in regard to his parents.

"Alright, maybe I'm being a bit unfair, but it's still true. I'm sure they loved me, and I'm grateful for that, but I don't know them, I'll _never_ know them because they trusted a whole lot of wrong people and they stayed and fought in a war with a new-born child. Instead of insisting to take me, Sirius thought it more important to go after Pettigrew and got himself set up, so even leaving out the fact that I really, really like living with you, it would be illogical to assume that he would be the best possible guardian. Not even starting on the 9 years in Azkaban and all that.“

Regulus isn't sure if that’s a healthy mindset to have or not, but he does agree with him, even considering that he might be slightly biased on the matter.

"I don't know how well Sirius will be anyway, but I promise you, if you really don't want to live with him you won't have to. I don't think he would try to force you, though he might be disappointed. If against all odds, he does try I'll fight for you as long as you want me to, alright? You'll be at least a teenager when any of this becomes relevant so if it really should come to a custody battle, they take your wish into account, as well as the fact that you already lived with me for a few years, so don't worry too much. And as I said, I really don't think Sirius would try forcing you. He will probably have a lot of choice words for me influencing you, but it's not as if my brother ever had a particularly high opinion of me in the last two decades.“ He knows he’s rambling a bit and that this could wait until tomorrow, but Merlin, he’s exhausted and tense and feels like he could sleep for a week.

Hadrian tightens his arms around him and mutters: “If he insults you after you got him out of prison, he should maybe spend some time reflecting on his world view. And keep a lookout for Atana maybe, I might forget to tell her not to bite him.“

"You're the most amazing child kiddo, don't you ever change“ Regulus laughs, wondering how Sirius will handle his sarcastic Slytherin-to-be of a godson without pulling his hair out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope this wasn't too much 'talk' and that the whole thing is understandable and coherent.  
> I mean, I do know my plot but sometimes it's difficult to see if I'm able to convey what makes sense to me.  
> Let me know if there's something unclear or confusing (or whatever else you'd like to let me know!)  
> Thanks for reading! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the Kudos and Comments, I really love the feedback! <3
> 
> It's time for Diagon Alley and stuff. :)

The months before his 11th birthday seem to fly by. There aren't any more Horcruxes to collect, and they can't do much about Sirius without the reading of his parents will or finding Peter Pettigrew. So, he keeps studying and practicing, sometimes goes flying with Regulus and enjoys their remaining time in solitude.

From time to time Severus Snape comes over, and while Hadrian still feels wary around him, they find some common ground on the topic of potions. Strangely enough, it helps that Snape is equally reserved. They spend most of their time in silence, only occasionally interrupted by questions and answers regarding anything in the lab, much to Regulus amusement.

It’s rather obvious that Snape is indecisive about what to think of him, dislike sometimes clear in his eyes, but all in all, he’s slowly warming up a little – as much as someone like Snape can ‘warm up,’ anyway. Hadrian honestly doesn’t care much, it’s enough to have a renowned potions master answering his questions and giving him tips. When it comes down to knowledge, he isn’t picky about the personality, Death desensitised him in that regard. And while Regulus does have a talent for the subject, he just couldn’t compare to Snape’s level of skill.

Hadrian’s feelings about starting Hogwarts are conflicted at best. While he can't wait to learn, to finally get a wand and to explore the old castle full of magic and secrets, he’s dreading the constant company of strangers who believe they know him, of being under Dumbledore’s no doubt watchful eyes, and leaving the sanctuary of Grimmauld Place and Regulus.

He doesn't doubt that he’ll be able to prove himself or to ignore the expectations others have of him, no matter if students, teachers or Dumbledore himself. But it will be taxing at least, especially in the beginning when a lot of people realise that he’s not the Golden Boy they make him out to be. He supposes it might be fun as well, watching all the confusion, but it all depends a lot on finding some time for himself and with what kind of people he’ll share his dorm – something else he doesn’t look forward to.

Regulus is convinced that he’ll end up in Slytherin, and while he likes the idea he’s not so sure and considers Ravenclaw as a serious possibility as well. Slytherin would be more work in regard to the social hierarchy of the house, but it would also be more fun. It’ll take some time for the Slytherins to realise that he’s not some hero and they would never expect him to know how their house works, probably seeing him as an easy target.

He wonders what it says about his mental state that he can't fight his pleasant anticipation at the prospect of proving them all wrong. He thinks it’ll be a lot more entertaining than Ravenclaw, so he hopes that the hat either agrees with Regulus or at least gives him a choice.

* * *

When his birthday finally comes around, he enters the kitchen to their traditional breakfast with pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, cake, and presents. He receives a lot of books of course, including two about wards for his bed and trunk, a new shoulder bag made of soft dragonhide-leather with extension and featherlight charms, a holster for his soon-to-be wand in black with dark-green patterns, which lets only him take his wand out of it, a huge collection of Honeydukes sweets and some new clothes. He even gets a full set of quality ingredients for potions from Snape, much to his surprise, but Regulus just smiles softly and shrugs, so he decides to write the man a Thank you-note and not to ask.

He hugs Regulus tightly, not only because of the presents. He’s still unable to express out loud the degree of his gratitude for everything and is just glad that Regulus seems to understand either way.

His Hogwarts letter arrived a few days ago, but they decided to wait until today to go to Diagon Alley. He has to be 11 for their business at Gringotts, and it makes more sense to get his school supplies on the same day.

After they finished breakfast and he put away all of his presents, Regulus apparates them to Diagon Alley, the first time that they’re going without a glamour. Nobody would recognize him because there never have been any pictures of him since he was a toddler, but Regulus is well known and they’re just hoping that nobody questions why he’s accompanying a child to Diagon Alley.

Their first stop is Gringotts where they’re led into the office of the Potter account manager.

"Good Morning Draknog,“ Hadrian greets the Goblin, surprising him by his use of Gobbledygook. He asked Death to learn it after studying Goblin customs, deciding it might be useful to show the creatures the respect they deserve, unlike so many other wizards.

"Good Morning Heir Potter-Black, Lord Black. What can I do for you today?“

Regulus only bows his head, staying in the background.

"As I’m 11 now, first I would like to claim my heir rings.“

Draknog snaps his fingers and four black boxes appear on the desk between them. "You need to put a drop of blood on each of them, so the ring and therefore the respective family magic will recognise you as the rightful heir. That will make it impossible for anyone but yourself to remove them, as well as activate the protective enchantments on each ring, which are all a bit different.“

While Hadrian nicks his finger to let a drop of blood fall onto each ring, Draknog continues to explain: "The Potter ring will heat up when someone attempts to use dark magic on you or when you're in close proximity to anything poisoned. It also protects against basic poisons, but I wouldn't rely on it too much.”

He taps the second box in the row and continues, “The Black ring protects against compulsions and Memory Charms and has the same warning of poison as the Potter ring. It also protects you against being apparated or portkeyed against your will. The Blacks were a paranoid lot.“ Here Draknog flashes them a toothy grin in obvious approval.

"The Peverell ring protects against weaker attempts at Legilimency and compulsions, provides some strength to your Occlumency shields as well as gentle aid for attempts at dark magic, especially Necromancy. All of them act as a Portkey to the respective properties of the family, you just have to press your finger to it and state the name.”

His eyes flicker briefly to the last box and he hesitates, just long enough for Hadrian to notice. ”The Gryffindor one is a bit different. It allows entry into most of the rooms at Hogwarts that don't belong to staff or were protected by the other founders. It warns against ill-meaning creatures and it makes you immune to Love Potions and similar potions and spells. It doesn't act as a Portkey and if you want to visit Gryffindor castle, you'll have to apparate to the location where the ring, combined with your blood, will allow you entry.”

He pauses again and looks at Hadrian, his eyes intense and serious but a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “It is very rare that one person inherits so many titles and if you should take on the Lordship of all your houses, you will be even better protected. You may put them on now.“

To say he’s impressed would be an understatement and he can see that Regulus is just as satisfied. Especially the protections against compulsions and Memory Charms are a great advantage, the one against being abducted in any way is awesome, and he doesn’t even want to start on the possibilities of exploring Hogwarts with the Gryffindor Heir-ring. And, not that he needs the protection against Legilimency, but an heir ring makes a good excuse that the mind of an 11-year-old is completely impenetrable.

He puts the rings on and marvels at the fact that they’re not adding any weight to his hand.

“You can make all or only specific ones invisible by thinking of it, and you can pay with the Potter and Black ring, seeing that they’re connected to the respective trust vaults,” Draknog says and shifts a few papers on his desk. “I have another thing to discuss with you, Heir Potter-Black. After the change of guardianship, we made an inventory of all your vaults and noticed that Albus Dumbledore took some artefacts out of the Potter vault, as was his right. As requested, we didn’t inform him of the change but as you know, he could have checked himself. He didn’t and consequently missed the deadline for returning what he took.”

Draknog scowls, reminding him just how unrelenting Goblins are when it comes to theft. “If you wish, we can reclaim the items and he’d have to pay the arising expenses.”

Hadrian smirks and nods, asking what the objects were.

"Most of them are books and one Invisibility Cloak. He also tried to take the Family Grimoire but as he isn't a Potter he was not allowed to do so.“

He presses his lips tightly together in annoyance. A Family Grimoire is deeply personal and to try taking one not belonging to your family is considered highly offensive. As for the Invisibility Cloak, he knew already that this is Death’s cloak and he can take a good guess why Dumbledore took it from his vault. "Yes please, but if it would be possible, could you wait until the start of September and send the cloak to Lord Black, please?“

Draknog nods and makes a note, and only when he looks back up Hadrian continues. "I would like my parents will to be read, please. I know Dumbledore prompted it to be sealed, but as I am 11 now and with my guardian’s consent, you should be able to reopen it, right?“

"That is correct. Do you want to do it now or would you prefer to invite all the mentioned parties to be invited to an official reading? If you do it now, the public reading will take place at a later date you don't need to attend, as long as you have nothing to dispute.“

"I'd like to do it now and postpone the official reading until the start of September as well, please.“

Draknog gets up and exchanges words with the Goblin waiting by the door, who disappears for a few minutes and returns with a thick, sealed envelope. Regulus steps closer to him and puts his hand on his shoulder in silent support, but Hadrian suspects it’s as much for him as for Regulus himself.

"You both need to put a drop of blood on the seal, confirming that you both agree to open the will and therefore override the previous decision. Heir Potter-Black first, please.“

He nicks his finger again, followed by Regulus. A parchment shoots out of the envelope, unfolding itself and the voices of who must be his parents start to speak.

 _"We, James Charlus Potter and Lily Potter neé Evans, residing at Potter Cottage, Godric’s Hollow, declare this to be our will, and we revoke any and all wills and codicils we previously made._  
_We leave all our main vaults, namely vaults 821, 822, 823, as well as the trust vault, namely vault 824 to our only son Hadrian James Potter._  
_We leave the residences Potter Manor and Potter Cottage to our only son Hadrian James Potter._  
_I, as Head of the family, also leave all accompanying titles to our only son, Hadrian James Potter._

 _We leave the vault 3067 to Remus John Lupin, containing 10 000 Galleons, as well as the residence of Marauders’ Hut in Wiltshire, to be shared with Sirius Orion Black._  
_We leave the Vault 3068 to Sirius Orion Black, containing the legacy of the Marauders, to be shared with Remus John Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and our only son Hadrian James Potter if he wishes._  
_I, as Lady Potter, leave my academical notes to Severus Snape, to be shared with our only son Hadrian James Potter if he wishes._

 _If we do not survive and we leave Hadrian James surviving us, we appoint as guardian of the person and property of our minor child his blood-adopted godfather Sirius Orion Black. If he does not qualify or for any reason ceases to serve as guardian, we appoint as successor guardians in following order: Alice and Frank Longbottom, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Tobias Snape, Regulus Arcturus Black._  
_To the last two: we know this will be more than a surprise to you, but we hope that if all goes wrong, we can trust you to raise our child away from the war and to the best of your abilities. Please, at least consider this or find another suitable magical family._  
_She or he shall have custody of our son and shall serve without bond._  
_Under no circumstances is Hadrian James Potter to be raised by Vernon and Petunia Dursley (neé Evans)._

_Last it shall be noted that the secret keeper of Potter Cottage, Godric’s Hollow was Peter Pettigrew, while Sirius Black was acting as a decoy, with Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore acting as the witness._

_We have signed this will on the 1st of August, 1981_  
_Signed and declared by James Charlus Potter and Lily Potter neé Evans to be our will, in the presence of Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore, who at our request, in our presence and in the presence of each other, all being present at the same time, have signed our names as witnesses._  
_So we say it, So mote it be._

**_Novissima autem inimica destruetur mors.“_ **

 

The parchment folds back into itself and silence stretches in the office, until Regulus clears his throat softly. "Well, that makes some things a lot easier, while others were rather unexpected. Draknog, would it be possible for me to hire one of your best lawyers and to start working on a demand for a trial for Sirius Black? In light of this new evidence, it should be possible to not only prove his innocence but to maybe strip Dumbledore of some of his titles.“

Dragnok nods, but before he can call for the Goblin at the door Hadrian stops him. "Wouldn't it be better if, at least officially, I demand the trial? People would be less suspicious if it’s me, the poor orphan who wanted to hear his parents will, discovering that his godfather might be innocent and all that. After all, there's still the issue with the 12 Muggles that got blown up, and the less suspicion there is to the trial the better. I think that with the revelation that Sirius didn't betray the Potters, there will be more credibility to a statement under Veritaserum, depending on his sanity. But it’s better to not take any chances.“

Draknog smirks and even the corner of Regulus’ mouth twitches a little and he nods. "You're probably right. Also, Gringotts should be able to prove that Pettigrew is still alive if we hire one of your lawyers, correct?“ he directs at Draknog, who nods.

"Very well, officially the trial will be demanded by Heir Potter-Black but unofficially I'll pay your lawyers. Please contact me as soon as you know more, Draknog.“

"It will be done. Is that all for you today?“

"Yes, thank you Draknog. May your gold flow and your vaults never empty.“ Hadrian says in Gobbledygook, which apparently surprises the Goblin, again.

"And may your enemies tremble at your feet, Heir Potter-Black. Lord Black.“

"So, you were supposed to be my guardian anyway huh? I mean, there were some people in line before you, and I'm quite glad to not have ended up with Snape, but that makes it a lot easier if anyone would want to challenge custody now, wouldn't it?“ He says when they are out of the bank and making their way through the bustling alley.

"Indeed. I'm rather surprised, to be honest, I never had much to do with your parents. I only ever talked to James when I got into fights with Sirius at school, who I neither had any contact with after he ran away at 16.”

He pauses when they have to step out of the way of a group of children but continues shortly after. “When the will was written I was 20 and already an Unspeakable for nearly 2 years. Nobody knew, of course, but it must have thought that I was neither a Death Eater nor otherwise involved in the war, maybe even fled the country. I have absolutely no idea what they were thinking, but I suppose they never expected it to come to that.”

"Yes well, they didn't expect a lot of things. But all the better, as long as Snape doesn't get any ideas after the official hearing, and I doubt that he will, we're fine. That's all that matters.“ Hadrian shrugs, unwilling to think too much about it. If he does, the anger over being left with the Dursleys might overtake him and he doesn’t want to ruin his own day. It’s not like he can do anything about it.

Regulus allows a slight smile to cross his face, which would’ve probably been a big grin if they weren't in public right now. "Should we get your robes and then grab some lunch?“

Hadrian nods and they enter Madam Malkin’s, thankfully empty for now. While she takes his measurements, they stay silent, lost in their own thoughts and unwilling to voice them in company.

After lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, they collect his books, parchment and quills, and equipment for Astronomy. Fortunately, he ordered everything not being on the list already with Thanatos, so for once they don't get lost for hours in the bookstore. But he can't wait to get his wand, not even books are able to keep his interest long enough.

Finally, they enter Ollivander’s and he can feel the magic oozing from the shelves so strongly that it nearly overwhelms him. Despite Regulus’ warning beforehand, he still jumps when Mr. Ollivander appears out of nowhere and has to suppress a scowl. He hates it when people creep up on him.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, I expected to see you soon. And Mr. Black, pine with dragon heartstring, twelve inches, quite supple. A surprise to see you here.“

"Hello Mr. Ollivander, yes it has served me well.“

Hadrian takes a step back when the man raises his hand to touch his scar, giving him a look. "If you don’t mind, I'd like to get a wand today.“ He keeps his tone friendly but it’s probably obvious that he doesn't enjoy the man entering his personal space. He just hopes this won't become a common occurrence, or he’s bound to hex someone sooner than later.

Thankfully Ollivander gets the hint and after stating that he’s ambidextrous but prefers his right hand, he gets measured in all possible ways, while the wandmaker collects boxes seemingly at random.

The first wand, alder wood and dragon heartstring, doesn't react at all. The second, hazel and unicorn hair, splinters as soon as he touches it. Even Ollivander looks slightly alarmed and quickly concludes that unicorn hair is absolutely out of the question.

To his relief, no more wands die in his hand during the next 20 minutes, but there aren't any remarkable results either. Most wands don't react at all, others wreak havoc in the shop. At least Ollivander enjoys himself, muttering excitedly under his breath and a slightly manic gleam in his eyes.

If Hadrian didn't already know that finding a wand can be tricky business he’d probably doubt his quality as a wizard, but he kind of expected it to be a long task. Considering that most people in the wizarding world have preconceived notions about him, it’s not that surprising that a wandmaker would fall into the same trap.

Regulus appears to find the whole thing just as entertaining as Ollivander while Hadrian fights against rolling his eyes.

When Ollivander says: "I wonder... yes, yes why not...“ he perks up a bit, expecting another kind of wand than all the ones he tried until now, but the feeling he gets when he picks it up is... weird. It feels like his magic _wants_ to connect to it but simply _can't,_ not completely at least. As if it’s pulled to and pushed from the wand at the same time.

"Well, that is indeed more curious than I expected Mister Potter. While you seem to have bonded to the core of the wand, the wood, holly, is rejecting you. Very curious indeed.“

Cocking his head, he stares at the old man. "Why exactly is it so curious?“

"I remember every wand I ever made, and as it is, the Phoenix that gave this particular feather only gave one more, which belonged to the wand that gave you your scar.“

He raises an eyebrow because while certainly interesting, it isn't the most curious or surprising thing that ever happened to him and actually makes kind of sense. He wonders if Ollivander expects him to be scared or excited but decides to better not comment at all, lest he'd be lying or unnerving the man.

"Is there a possibility to find another wood for this particular core? Of course, I'm willing to pay extra for your work, but this is the first wand that comes close to feeling right and I have the impression that it'll be even more difficult after this core bonded to me. My magic feels like it wants to reach for it.“

Ollivander examines him for long, uncomfortable seconds and then nods, disappearing into the back of his shop without a word. He returns with a collection of woods and spreads them on the counter. "You have a very good connection to your magic, so just hold your hand over the different woods and choose the one calling to you.“

Hadrian does as asked, briefly wondering why wandmakers prefabricate wands instead of letting customers bond this way but disregards the thought for now. He finally feels his magic react strongly with a white type of wood but continues, unwilling to decide before he tested all of them. The same feeling, only slightly weaker, surges forward with a block of black wood, and those are the only two that provoke any notable reaction.

"These two. The white one is stronger but just marginally. If I have to choose, I'd take the white one but… is it possible to combine them? Maybe more of the white than the black? I think it would produce the best result.“ He trails off, admitting at least to himself that he has no idea if that’s even possible and just realising that Ollivander looks alarmingly pale.

"Yew and ebony, a very interesting combination and not what I expected, not what I expected at all Mr. Potter.“

"Yes well, I think I will hear that a lot in the next few months.“

He hears Regulus smother a snort behind him while Ollivander is still very white and staring at him. At the stretching silence, he gathers himself slightly. "I can combine both kinds of wood as you wish. But if you choose yew as the main wood, it will not only be the brother but the twin to the wand of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I don't wish to judge but I think you should have a say in that matter, considering what others may think if they hear of that fact.“

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander, but I think I prefer my wand to be the best suited for me instead of calming others unreasonable notions.“

"Well then, I expect nothing less from a wizard that gets chosen by such remarkable components. I think we can expect great things from you. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things as well. Terrible, yes, but great. I will have your wand ready in two hours Mr. Potter.“

He nods, still a bit amused that even choosing a wand has to be completely out of the ordinary, while making a mental note to read up on the properties of his. According to Ollivander’s reaction, it should prove to be interesting.

After saying their goodbyes, they leave the shop and Regulus shakes his head at him fondly. "Of course you have to get the twin wand to Tom’s, didn't you? For a second I thought the old man might faint then and there,“ he murmurs under his breath so that only Hadrian can hear him.

"You won't let me live this down for the next few months, won't you?“ The twitching of the corner of Regulus’ mouth and the mischief gleaming in his eyes is all he needs as an answer.

"If Dumbledore ever finds out he'll have kneazles, you know that, right?“

"Reg, _anyone_ who finds out except you will have kneazles. Light side, dark side, doesn't matter. But I absolutely refuse to have anything less than a perfect wand just because of the dark tosser that made himself go mad. I mean honestly, if _I_ can get over having his twin wand, then so should everybody else. Not like it's any of their business, anyway.“

They stop talking when they arrive back at Flourish& Blotts and he makes his way into the small corner containing books on wandlore.

The two hours pass quickly while being in the bookshop and soon they find themselves back at Ollivander’s, Hadrian staring at his wand in wonder. It’s bone-white, but a very thin, black line winds around it in a wide, spiralling pattern, moulding together at the tip.

"Yew and ebony with a Phoenix feather core, 12,5 inches and unyielding.“

This time, Hadrian can't suppress his grin, the feeling that flows through him at the connection between the wand and his magic beyond words, and he’s completely honest when he says: “Thank you, Mr. Ollivander, it's perfect.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the wand: Yes, I have a weakness for wandlore and I couldn't stop myself making it a little extra.  
> Harry is very different, thanks to Death and Reg and I think it has to show in this aswell.  
> Also, I love the Headcanon/trope of twin wands, it wasn't originally my idea but unfortunately I don't know where I saw it or who did it first.  
> The combination with ebony I came up with myself though.  
> If you want to know the backround to the wand (information comes from Pottermore):  
> Yew is rare and their matches are likewise unusual and sometimes notorious.  
> The wood is reputed to endow rhe wizard with the power of life and death and retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the sphere of duelling and curses.  
> But the suitor to a yew wand can also be a fierce protector of others.  
> Yew would never choose a mediocre or timid owner.
> 
> Ebony is highly suited for combative magic and Transfiguration and happiest in the hand of someone who chooses to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of an outsider; one who will hold fast to their beliefs, no matter the external pressure.
> 
> Phoenix feather is the rarest type of core and is capable of the greatest range of magic. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting on their own accord. Phoenix feather wands are the pickiest when it comes to potential owners and are the hardest to tame and to personalise. Their allegiance is usually hard won. 
> 
> Most wands range between 9 and 14 inches; longer wands tend to be drawn to bigger personalities and those of a more spacious and dramatic style of magic; shorter ones favour more elegant and refined spell casting.  
> Harrys is kind of a middle-thing.  
> Wand flexibility denotes the degree of adaptility and willingness to change, which Harry hasn't much of so his is rather rigid.
> 
>  
> 
> As Holly is a traditional symbol of luck, prosperity and protection from evil, I found it to be no longer fitting for Harry and I like what I came up with. Hope you do aswell. :) 
> 
> Ah, and: "Novissima autem inimica destruetur mors" means "the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death" which is what is written on James and Lilys tombstone and is acting as the Potter-motto here (It's also a Bible-quote and I never got why exactly JK chose this, but I like it and it fits so I used it.) :)
> 
> Next chapter will be the start of Hogwarts and it'll be up sunday if everything goes to plan.  
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the start of Hogwarts, only took me 10 chapters lol. :D
> 
> I'm not going to follow canon a lot. There will be some of the main Plot-points of course, but only those that are still logical with everything that changed.  
> Also, I like and read AU's a lot and many of them tend to repeat the same scenes from the books, like conversations or speeches or descriptions. I like it and it's great when people put the work into it to include those things, but being someone who honestly reads _many_ AU's, by now I often skip those kind of scenes and I'm not going to include them.  
> It would make it difficult for me to stay motivated and as long as they're not crucial I will not write them. I hope nobody's too disappointed with that.
> 
> As always, a thousand thanks for your Kudos and Comments, they seriously make me happy!  
> Enjoy! :)

The 1st of September approaches too quickly for his liking. Surprisingly, their visit to Diagon Alley remained unnoticed and so his first 'official' entrance back into the wizarding world will come with his arrival at Hogwarts. Or probably at the train, but anyway.

He spent the last month getting used to his wand, as thankfully the wards at Grimmauld Place block the trace from the Ministry rather effectively. Thank Merlin for the paranoia of the House of Black.

With all his training in wandless magic, he overpowered his spells a lot in the beginning and only the protections on the duelling room prevented any bigger disasters. If he still lived at Privet Drive, he might have destroyed half the house.

He got the hang of it eventually though, and by now has good control over his magical output. He’s still amazed at the difference – he can train for longer and more demanding spells, and finally understands why few witches and wizards bother to practise without a wand. If it’s all they’ve ever known, the strain of doing wandless magic must appear close to impossible,

However, he vows to himself to not slack off, disliking the idea of depending on his wand and having invested too much time learning to get along without it to give up on it now. He still unconsciously summons books or warms his tea wandlessly, so he doesn’t think it’ll be much of a problem. Still, it wouldn’t do to get too comfortable, not that Death would let him.

Regulus already got a message from the Goblins that the trial will take place on the 30th of September. The press obviously hasn’t heard about it yet and they treasure the silence as long as it lasts.

As another preparation, Regulus taught him the Concealment Spell of the Blacks, which masks any letters, only showing the most uninteresting thing the reader can imagine. Only the intended Black is able to decode the message with a drop of blood. It’s dark magic, of course, but one of the best things about the spell is that it’s immune to Revealing Spells.

It calms his nerves immensely to know that he won’t have to censor himself in their writing, together with being able to take Atana with him. Not only did he check the school rules _twice_ but confirmed it with Snape. As far as most people are concerned, she’s only 20 inches long of course, and officially he doesn’t _know_ that Snape approves because that could get Snape into a whole lot of trouble with Dumbledore, but if he ends up in Slytherin he can be sure that his Head of House won’t throw a tantrum.

At least he knows every single rule now, having remembered the book at the first go, but that can only serve as an advantage. Sooner or later people will learn about him being a Parselmouth anyway, so he can argue that he’s even able to understand her and that she listens to him, which is more than most can claim.

Alright, he might be a bit obsessive about Atana, but next to Regulus and Death she’s his closest friend and he’ll probably go mad within the first few weeks if he had to leave her behind.

With everything he wants to take with him packed, all the important issues that are manageable right now set, he’s still a nervous wreck on the 1st of September. He barely touches his breakfast, much to Kreacher’s indignation, and is close to begging Regulus to home-school him instead.

Then he snorts at his own inner whining and pulls himself together, simply refusing to let any of his nerves show just because his life is about to change. He’ll go to Hogwarts, he’ll learn a lot of magic, he’ll raid the library down to the last book and he’ll be fucking _great_ at all of it.

He does send a silent thanks to Merlin that the blood-adoption resulted in him looking more like a Black than a Potter when Regulus apparates them to Platform 9 ¾. While some people look curious at seeing the Lord of the House of Black there, not many spare them a second glance and they’re able to walk to the end of the platform in peace.

"Alright kiddo, take care of yourself, don't let the old fool or anyone else bother you and write to me if you need anything, and also when you're not needing anything. If it's really urgent you can always go to Sev as well, no matter which house you end up in, okay?“

"I'd like to see his face if I end up in Gryffindor and he has to deal with me.“ Hadrian jokes weakly.

Regulus grimaces and teases: "You know, I could still tolerate you if you end up in Gryffindor Har, if only barely“

"Yeah I know, we'd suffer together.“

"You may be brave, but chivalry really isn't your forte.“

He just smirks, not really seeing the problem with that particular 'weakness' and wordlessly hugs Regulus. He grew quite a bit over the last year, reaching 4,9 feet and thus at least being only a bit more than a head smaller than him.

Regulus squeezes him tightly, murmuring: "I'm proud of you, you know that right?“ into his hair and he suddenly has a hard time swallowing around the lump in his throat. Before he can get even more emotional, he pulls back and adjusts his robes so Atana would stay hidden underneath his sleeve where she’s coiled around his arm.

Offering Regulus an only slightly shaky smile he promises: “I'll write. Take care of yourself Reg, or I'll have to bribe Kreacher into dragging you out of the library and sealing the door when I'm home for Yule,“ which gets him a mock glare.

"As if you're one to talk, I had to give him orders to remind you three times a day to eat something and I can't even count how many times I hit you with a sleeping charm to get you away from one book or another.“

"Yeah I know, pot kettle and all that.“

The first warning whistle, indicating that he has only 10 minutes left, breaks them out of their bickering and after one last short hug, he jumps on the train.

Entering at the end of the platform pays off as he quickly finds an empty compartment and after hanging up his outer robe he lets himself fall into the seat, exhaling heavily.

_$I know the train ride will be long, but you can't unshrink yourself, alright?$_ he tells Atana, not for the first time.

She learned to resize herself over the years, courtesy to being a magical snake, and while it’s a useful skill for her to have in general, it becomes rather troublesome when she chooses the wrong moment. Like the international Portkey office in Spain last year, simply because she got bored waiting.

_$I know hatchling, you told me many times,$_ she snipes at him, not at all happy about the circumstances.

Before he can answer, the door flies open and a boy with red hair and a lot of freckles looks at him. "Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.“

He doubts that and isn't all that keen on having company, but he’s also aware that it wouldn't be the smartest course of action to burn bridges before crossing them, so he smiles politely and gestures to the empty seats, "By all means.“ He pulls a book out of his bag, hoping the boy will get the hint. No such luck.

"I'm Ron, Ronald Weasley.“

He guessed the last name already, having had more than enough 'lessons' on all the possible and impossible wizarding families from the portraits at Grimmauld Place, including the 'characteristics' of each and every one of them. Unlike them, he doesn’t care all that much if a family is pureblooded or considered blood-traitors or whatever, but he knows that the Weasleys had been fiercely loyal to Dumbledore in the last war and sighs internally. Hero-worship it would probably be then.

"Hadrian Potter,“ he answers, deciding to let the Black out for the time being.

"Wait, Hadrian? Isn't your name Harry?“

He can't contain his grimace completely and explains what Death told him many years ago, leading to him _hating_ being called Harry. "No, I think I'd know that. My parents named me Hadrian, it was only Dumbledore who decided that it apparently sounds 'too much like a pureblood' and that Harry is 'more approachable'. It wasn't even the nickname my parents gave me, so I don't really like it.“

Ron honestly looks like he doesn't understand half of what he said and retorts: "But everybody knows you're _Harry_ Potter. And Hadrian does sound like a pureblood.“

"Yes well, considering nobody actually knows _anything_ about me it would be pretty presumptuous of other people to tell me what my name is, don't you think?!“

Ron just gapes at him and he idly wonders if the concept of not liking a nickname really is that hard to grasp for him, or if he has simply thrown him off with the way he acts, _or_ if he can't understand how somebody would refuse a name given by the oh-so-great Albus Dumbledore. Maybe a little bit of everything. Assuming the conversation is over he opens his book, just to be interrupted again.

"Do you have it, then?“

"Do I have what, exactly?!“

Ron gestures to his own forehead in response and, biting back his groan, he just raises a questioning eyebrow. He has to force himself to not grab his wand more tightly, to simply keep rolling it between his fingers, a habit he developed over the last weeks. He finds it kind of calming and likes to have something to occupy his hands with. Not even one hour into the train ride and his patience is already wearing thin. Circe but he hopes not all kids of his age are that obtuse.

"The scar,“ Ron clarifies when it becomes obvious that he won’t receive an answer.

“What about it?“ he grinds out, feeling Atana shift around his wrist which thankfully manages to soothe him a bit.

"Well, can you show me?“

"Honestly, do I look like a sightseeing spot or something to you?!“

Before the situation can get even more out of hand a few things happen at the same time. A fat, ugly rat crawls out of Ron’s jacket and Atana instantly begins to spit and hiss madly, growing herself to her original size. She flares her hood and stares threateningly at the cowering rat, while Ron immediately starts screaming.

Before he can even think it through, Hadrian locks the door. There’s something very wrong here, even if he doesn't know what yet. He knows Atana wouldn’t flip out like this because of a simple rat.

Ignoring Ron’s screaming and whimpering, for now, he tries his luck with calming Atana down who’s closing in on the rat. Not that he cares all that much about the bloody rodent, but he'd rather not have her killing other pets when they haven't even reached Hogwarts yet.

_$Atana! What the hell is wrong with you!$_ he hisses, kind of pissed with the situation as a whole, especially when he notices Ron getting even more scared in the face of Parseltongue. He rolls his eyes, honestly, as if a language in itself could be evil.

_$Hatchling, this isn't a rat.$_

He stills, all his annoyance of her leaving him in an instant. _$What do you mean, exactly?!$_

_$I don't know but it's not a rodent. It smells like human, but not like a pet normally does. Didn't you and the tall hatchling talk a lot about a human being a rat?!$_

_$Don't bite him, please. Thank you, but don't bite him, alright?$_

She huffs, as well as a snake is able to, and probably would have rolled her eyes at him if she could. _$I wasn't going to, hatchling.$_

He’s not sure if he believes her but it doesn't matter right now because he has a rat-not-being-a-rat at his hands, quite possibly Peter Pettigrew, as well as an annoying redhead who’s nearly pissing himself.  
He sends a quick stunner at the rat and contemplates briefly to do the same to Ron, but decides that it probably isn't worth getting into trouble over hexing a student.

Shrinking Atana back into a more socially acceptable size he asks him: "For how long did you have the rat?“

"You-you're a Parselmouth!“

He rolls his eyes and sighs, too annoyed to put on a friendly act. "Yes, I've noticed. Can you answer my question?“

The boy looks still scared out of his mind but somehow manages to croak out: "Why do you want to know that?! So your big-ass snake can have a snack? And why did you stun him?!“

"No, Atana won't touch your rat, but honestly, how long?!" He really doesn't want to spring on him that his pet might be a person, and it seems more and more likely. He just saw that the rat is missing a fucking toe.

"Nearly 10 years I think, it was my brothers before this school year.“

Seriously, is the whole family completely daft? What kind of rat lives 10 years in Salazar’s name? He really regrets that he sent Thanatos to Hogwarts instead of taking him on the train, he could use a way right now to contact Regulus, or at least Snape.

He weighs his options, which aren't all that many to begin with. He knows the spell to show if an animal is actually an Animagus, but he’s not able to reverse the transformation, not to mention that he can't let Peter Pettigrew loose in a train full of children. He also doubts that anybody would believe a first year, 'Harry' Potter or not, that he discovered an Animagus as a pet, on a boy he didn't have the best start with, to put it nicely. He can’t keep all of them locked into this compartment for the rest of the train ride either.

Severus _might_ believe him when they arrive at Hogwarts, but he can't be sure that the rat, in both senses of the word, won't flee again or that Ron won't simply lie and say that he lost him.

But if he’s not mistaken, the Weasley family currently has many children but little money, and apparently Ron just got the rat from his brother, meaning there might not be much emotional attachment involved yet.

"If I swear an oath to you that I won't feed him to my snake and give you 10 Galleons for another pet, would you sell him to me?“ he asks, coming to a decision. He detests having to _pay_ for Pettigrew, but it’s the only way he currently sees that won't cause even more of a stir, and containing Pettigrew would practically ensure Sirius freedom. And 10 Galleons _really_ don't put any kind of dent in his fortune.

"Why?! What would you do with him?“

"I promise you that I will do nothing to him,“ personally, but anyway, "I'll even state that in my oath if you want me to.“

Ron appears to really start thinking about his offer and he smirks inwardly. It’s all about _how_ you word things, something a lot of people forget when it comes to promises or oaths of any sort.

"You'd really give me 10 Galleons?“

"I pay you first, then give the oath and if you're satisfied, you give me the rat. Deal?“ Ron nods, enthusiasm creeping into his eyes. This is nearly too easy.

He counts the money out of his pouch and hands it over, then lays his wand on his hand. "I, Hadrian James Potter-Black, swear on my magic that I won't do anything fatal, nor will I let Atana harm the rat formerly belonging to Ronald Weasley. So I say it, so mote it be.“

Golden light encircles his wand and wrist, setting the oath. He receives a satisfied nod from Ron and grabs the blasted rat, leaving it stunned as it is and buries it as deep in his bag as possible.

He unlocks the door again without Ron having noticed that it had been locked in the first place and thankfully, the other boy apparently decides that it has been enough action for him and leaves, taking his trunk with him.

He locks the door again and relaxes back into his seat, no longer able to contain his smirk. He can't wait to see Regulus’ face when he presents him with Pettigrew, falling into his lap on his train ride to Hogwarts of all things.

Realising that he’s finally alone now and doesn’t have to keep up the appearance of the rat being his pet, he pulls out his trunk and thrusts it into the compartment with his potion supplies.

The rest of the train ride passes peacefully. He ignores the few knocks on the door, assuming that if it’s important, somebody would make themselves known, and spends the remaining hours reading and talking to Atana.

The first view of Hogwarts is breathtaking, and not only because the castle itself is beautiful. The sheer amount of ancient magic oozing from the place nearly knocks him off his feet. Not even the whispers and looks manage to dampen his wonder.

By nothing short of a miracle, nobody realised yet that _he_ is 'Harry' Potter and apparently neither did Ron tell anyone of their admittedly rather strange encounter. Maybe it doesn’t paint a good picture, being nearly attacked by a snake and all that. Or maybe nobody believed him that 'Harry' Potter has a giant snake and is a Parselmouth dealing in rats. Whatever it is, he takes it.

For now, he keeps to the sides while waiting with the other first years for the sorting, and except from a few curious glances, nobody pays him much mind. Everybody is so fixated on finding him, messy hair, glasses, glaring scar, that nobody notices _him_ , wavy but long and tidy hair, no glasses, just a faint white lightning bolt hidden from view, looking like a Pureblood. It’s actually quite funny and his lips twitch at the thought of their faces when the realisation finally hits that drawings and imagination aren't reliable sources. Or maybe they would’ve been if he hadn't been blood-adopted and glamoured, who knew.

His amused expression is caught by another boy standing to the side, looking as disinterested in the whole spectacle of craning necks and muttering as himself, and after the boy’s gaze swept over him, he obviously realises who he is, and smirks at him.

Giving credit where credit is due, he gives an acknowledging nod and smirks in return at the dark-skinned, handsome boy, thankful that the only observant person in the room obviously shares his enjoyment of letting the rest lose their heads.

The massive doors open, and he follows the others into the Great Hall, letting an honest smile slip onto his face at the beautiful view.

When the hat finishes his song the sorting finally begins, and he starts paying attention. He’s familiar with a lot of the names that are called and observes the other first years while they’re sorted.

After Sally-Anne Perks goes to Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall calls: "Potter, Harry.“ Whispers break out all over the hall and he groans inwardly.  

Making a split-second decision he softly clears his throat, "Actually, it is Hadrian, Professor, not Harry.“

The whispers increase in volume and there are many confused stares, but he thinks it’s better to get this out of the way as early as possible. It’s only going to annoy him if he has to correct everyone during the first few weeks. Well, he’ll probably have to do that either way, but at least nobody can claim ignorance now.

After a few seconds, McGonagall nods sharply, “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter.”

He only smiles and she quickly puts the hat on his head, obscuring his view of the still confused mass of students.

_'Oh my, how interesting Mr. Potter. Or should I say Mr. Potter-Black? Why not correct all the mistakes being made, if I may ask?'_

'Well, never show all your cards at the first opportunity and all that.'

_' A true Slytherin mind-set. But you would do well in any house. A lot of courage and determination, but also hard-working and loyal, though only to those you call your own. A thirst for knowledge and wit that Rowena would love. But yes, most of all you have ambition and cunning in heaps._ _You remind me of someone I sorted a long time ago.'_

Hadrian rolls his eyes, as nobody can see him right now anyway. 'That wouldn't happen to be Tom Riddle now, would it,' he drawls in his mind.

_'Ah, I see it's not the first time you get to hear this, even your wand agrees with me.'_

'Yes, well. That's all nice and good but I'm not going to be a carbon copy of anyone, especially not someone that went insane because he was, quite frankly, acting on impulse on things that should be thought through, if not avoided altogether.'

_'No, I don't suppose you will be a carbon copy of anyone. Now, if I put you into Gryffindor the lions will drive you mad within a week, and everybody will expect you to be what you're so clearly not, even more than they already do. The Hufflepuffs would probably break on their loyalty to you because you won't be able to return it comparably, and they won't deal well with your more manipulative tendencies. Ravenclaw would suit you, yes, but you seek knowledge more for the power it can grant you and use it to your own means, something a Ravenclaw won't understand.’_

_It pauses, if to think or give him a chance to voice his own opinion, he doesn’t know._

_‘_ _But in Slytherin, yes, you will be challenged and meet your equals, you'll need to keep on your toes and be able to reach your full potential and goals. Indeed, you would make old Salazar proud. So, better be_ SLYTHERIN!'

Faced with a deadly silent, gobsmacked Great Hall he has to fight hard to keep his face fully blank. He ignores all the stares and whispers slowly breaking out and gracefully slides into a seat at the end of the Slytherin table with his back towards the wall. Only then he lets his gaze travel over the professors at the head table.

Even the teachers appear to be speechless, only Snape doesn’t look surprised and hides a smirk behind his goblet. Dumbledore’s face is changing quickly from surprise, to shock, to a second of anger back to his false, twinkling, grandfatherly self.

The Slytherins finally get their bearing back and clap politely, but it’s unmistakable that they don't really know what to make of him being sorted into their house.

The sorting finishes shortly after with Blaise Zabini, whom he recognises from the Antechamber, sliding into the seat next to him. After some completely useless rambling from Dumbledore, at which he has to actively keep a sneer off his face, food appears on the table.

To his other side, a throat is cleared very importantly, and he chances a look out of the corner of his eye, recognising the Malfoy heir instantly. He heard a few stories about him from Regulus. This should be fun.

Obviously unsatisfied with his lack of reaction the blonde drawls dramatically: "Harry Potter in Slytherin, who would have thought.“

"I did, actually.“

"Well, apparently you don't know how things work here. I can show you if you want. I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy.“ He sounds so condescending and Hadrian wants to cackle a bit at the hilarity of it all. _This_ is exactly the reason why he didn’t mention his second surname. _This_ is exactly the reason why being in Slytherin will be great entertainment.

Looking at the arrogant Pureblood he says sweetly: "You know, it’s considered quite rude to introduce yourself to someone of higher social standing. And it's Hadrian. Hadrian Potter-Black.“

Malfoy obviously doesn't get the hint because he scoffs, "As if _you_ would know anything about the Blacks, you grew up with _Muggles_ and your only connection to the Blacks is your godfather who's rotting in Azkaban.“

Even a few of the other Slytherins stare at Malfoy disbelievingly. You simply don't joke about Azkaban, especially not in Slytherin.

"Oh, and you're sure about that, aren't you?“ Hadrian asks, casually propping his chin on his hand while letting all his heir rings except the Gryffindor one become visible.

It’s common knowledge among Purebloods that you’re only able to wear the heir ring if the Head of Family approves of you. Which tells Malfoy and everybody else who’s paying attention that not only did he insult him and his family and the family of his own mother, but that he’s obviously wrong about a lot of things he assumed about him.

It also tells him that he insulted the only person higher in the Slytherin-hierarchy-to-be of the first years than himself, at least as far as general social standing is concerned.

Hadrian just smirks at him knowingly and returns his attention to his food, only just catching Blaise looking at him with amusement clear in his dark brown eyes and his mouth quirking up. He returns the gesture, shrugs a shoulder and says: "I'm Hadrian, it's nice to meet you.“

"Likewise. I'm Blaise.“

And that was that.

Dumbledore’s speech after the feast is not much better than the one beforehand, and he wonders who the hell puts something into a school full of children that causes a "horrible and painful death,“ and then goes and tells said children about it.

He’s intrigued anyway because he would take a guess and say that something valuable is hidden there. Why else go through the trouble?

He’s also morbidly fascinated by the magical aura of their Defence professor because it looks completely off. It’s remarkable that he noticed it while he has most of his sensitivity blocked off, lest he gets overwhelmed by the sheer amount of magic swirling around him. He only sees a soft glow around every person, the colours depending mostly on the inclination of their core and their basic emotions if he concentrated.

For Quirrell, it looks like two auras are fighting for dominance, one eating away at the other like a parasite, and he makes a mental note to ask Death about it later when having a conversation in his head won't cause him to potentially miss something important.

After the school song is finished, he wishes he would’ve decided differently, preventing himself from witnessing too much of that particular disaster, but well. All in all, the welcoming feast alone demolished his opinion of Albus Dumbledore even further and he didn’t even think that was possible.

The prefects lead them into the Slytherin common room, and he takes a moment to appreciate the place. It reminds him a little bit of Grimmauld Place. While it’s all dark colours and mystic decorations, some may even find it cold, to him it’s homey and comfortable, the windows into the lake reflecting the flickering light from the fires softly. There are sofas and armchairs in front of the fires, and tables to do homework and numerous bookshelves along the walls, with some portraits along the solid walls.

Professor Snape enters the common room in a swirl of black robes, and he snaps back to attention. Not only would the man have his head if he doesn't listen on his first night, but he also needs to talk to him alone.

"Welcome to Slytherin. You have been sorted into the noble House of Salazar, and while that is certainly something to be proud of, the other houses won't see it as such. So, the 5 rules you will do well to remember are as follow:  
1\. Slytherins stick together. Whatever problems you may have with each other, sort them out inside of this room. Outside, we present a united front. On that note,  
2\. What happens in Slytherin, _stays_ in Slytherin.  
3\. For every rule, there is a loophole.  
4\. Don't get caught. If somebody must be blamed, make sure it's somebody else.  
5\. Don't blame other Slytherins.”

He pauses until they all nod their understanding. “Very well. Additionally, I expect each and every one of you to work hard and compose yourselves with the decorum proper for a Slytherin. If you have any problems, go to the prefects first and if they're unable to help you, you can always come to me. Many professors and students will judge you simply based on the colour of your tie, what they don't realise is that they're being as prejudiced as they make us out to be. Don't prove them right.”

If he didn’t know him already, he’d be seriously intimidated by the glare that is directed at them.

“For the first three years, you will share a dorm with some of your year mates. The first group of boys contains Mr. Nott, Mr. Potter-Black and Mr. Zabini, the second one of Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle and Mr. Malfoy. The girls will be roomed together because there are only four of you. Any questions?“

All the assembled first years stay silent, so Snape nods sharply and turns on his heel.

Before he can leave, Hadrian quickly falls into step next to him. "Professor, there's something important I need to talk to you about. Would it be possible to go to your office?“

Snape just looks at him for a second but then gestures for him to follow. When they arrive at his office and the door closes, he can feel privacy wards flare up and exhales a breath of relief.

Pulling his trunk out of his bag and unshrinking it he says: "Could you maybe call Regulus to come through? I know this is very uncommon for the first night and you probably think I just forgot something, but I promise you it's important.“

The dour professor seems hesitant but then sighs, probably realising that Regulus would never forgive him if he ignores him and goes to the fireplace to floo-call Grimmauld Place.

While Snape is occupied, he opens his trunk and stuns the rat again before it can try to escape. He deposits it on the table and shrinks his trunk again, just when Regulus steps through the flames.

He looks worriedly at Hadrian, who wordlessly gestures to the rat with his wand. Both men raise their brows in such an identical fashion that he nearly laughs, but he shoves it aside. “Anybody here who’s able to do a forced Animagus-to-human transfiguration? Because I can’t, I only know that this is not the common rat it posed as, for the last 10 years.”

He shakes his head and mutters under his breath, “Honestly, which family doesn’t notice that their rat lived 5 times longer than it should?”

Regulus eyes widen, while Snape still looks very perplexed and annoyed. "How... Where?“ Regulus only stammers out, still staring at the rat,

"Well, I got interrogated by the latest Weasley on the train, who obviously had a rat. Atana wasn't impressed with a rat that also smelled like a human and nearly ate the little pest. The rat, not the Weasley. Of course, she said she didn't plan to, but you know how she is.”

He wrinkles his nose when he notices that he’s talking nonsense. But Merlin, he’s tired. “Anyway, when I saw that it’s missing a toe, I stunned the rat and locked the door while Weasley was freaking out over Atana. While he did that I thought, nice human-being that I am, that it would be quite the shock for him and the rest of the train to find Peter Pettigrew among the pets, apart from the fact that nobody would’ve believed me anyway and the rat would’ve been able to flee. I also couldn't stun Weasley for the rest of the ride or lock all of us in. So I took an oath that I, personally, or Atana wouldn't harm his precious rodent, paid him 10 Galleons and sent him on his way while keeping _this_ in my trunk until I could get Professor Snape and subsequently you, to do the rest of the dirty work.“

The aforementioned Professor is the first to recover. "You want to tell me that this rat is Peter Pettigrew. Who has been dead for nearly 10 years. Because your snake told you so and what, it's missing a toe? That makes absolutely no sense!“

He just sighs and rubs his eyes, "Reg? The Reversal-spell? I could try and defend my point but the spell would make it much, much easier and I'm really too tired to drag this out for longer than I have to.“

That finally shakes Regulus out of his stupor, and he nods, letting his wand fall into his hand.

He drops the rat unceremoniously to the floor, Regulus performs the spell and after the bright blue light hit, the rat slowly grows and turns into a human. A rather ugly and dirty one.

Snape gapes and it’s the first time Hadrian has ever seen him so unguarded, but it’s rather reasonable considering the circumstances.

He lifts his stunner but keeps his wand trained on the man, who seems to only gradually comprehend his dire circumstances. "Hello Peter,“ he sneers, unable to help himself. Next to Dumbledore, this is the person he holds most responsible for his parents’ death, and as detached as he might feel towards them most of the time, there isn't much that he considers more despicable than betraying your friends. And he not only betrayed his parents but also sent his godfather to hell on earth, simply to save his own skin. "Do you recognise me? The son of the friends you betrayed 10 years ago? The godson of the man who is rotting in Azkaban because of you?“

"Ha...- Hadrian? I, I di-, didn't betray Lily and James! Har, Sirius-“

" _Don't_ call me that!“ he snarls, anger gripping him at the audacity of calling him by the nickname only Regulus ever uses for him. Well, apparently his parents did as well if Pettigrew’s use of it is anything to go by, but that really isn't the point.

"Well Pettigrew, I'd say Sirius’ trial in 4 weeks just got a tad more interesting,“ Regulus intervenes, probably to stop the rat from saying something that would snap Hadrian’s currently very short temper.

"Re..-Regulus? Severus?“ he stammers out but only receives two blank stares in response. Snape still doesn't seem to be over the fact that a not-so-dead man is kneeling on his office-floor and in the back of his mind, Hadrian remembers vaguely that Regulus once said that Snape and his mother had been close in the first few years of school.

"I think it would be best to call the Aurors. Maybe tell them that he tripped an Animagus-ward and Professor Snape discovered him or something. I'd prefer to not let the whole of Britain know that I'm a Parselmouth already, but if you have to, you can tell them that Atana smelled him of course. They're bound to find out sooner or later anyway.“ He says, unable to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. The anger leaves him as quickly as it appeared, and he just wants to sink into his bed. Wherever that is, come to think of it.

Regulus nods and hits Pettigrew with a stunner and another spell Hadrian doesn't recognise, but most likely keeps him from transforming.

After he secured the rat, he steps over it and pulls him in a hug. "I can't believe you found Peter Pettigrew on the train, seriously. Either way, I'm glad you did, this will make the trial a lot easier.“ Hadrian only grunts incoherently in response.

"Alright, Regulus you have some explaining to do, but first I'll escort Mr. Potter back to the common room,“ Snape says, apparently having gotten his bearings back.

"Thank you, Professor, for calling Regulus as well. I'm sure he'll explain,“ he says while they’re walking through the dungeon. He’s more than glad that they already opened his parents will, it’s a lot easier to justify the demand of a trial for Sirius as well as their 'suspicion' that Pettigrew wasn't dead.

When they arrive at the entrance of the common room, Snape points him in the direction of his dorm and leaves quickly.

Hadrian slips inside and lets out a relieved breath at the sight of closed curtains on the other two beds. He’s way too tired to deal with anything else today and the only thing he wants to do is to curl up in bed and get some well-deserved sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the Kudos, Comments, Bookmarks.. <3 
> 
> A long chapter again! :)

The next morning, he wakes up early, and after a quick shower, he lets Atana curl around his neck, grabs a book and finds a window seat in the still empty common room. He doesn’t notice how much time passes until the increasing noise breaks his concentration and he sees that the first years are gathering to walk to the Great Hall together.

He walks over to greet Blaise with a friendly nod and then turns to the boy standing next to him. “Hey, I’m Hadrian. You must be Theodore, right?”

He’s about Hadrian’s own height, with light brown hair and intelligent eyes that contrast his rather unremarkable face.

"I'd prefer Theo if you don't mind,“ he says with a barely noticeable wince.

"Sure. I suppose I'll have to correct a lot of people over the next few weeks as well.“

"How come that everybody knows you as Harry if it isn't your name?“ Blaise asks with a raised eyebrow, causing him to sigh. He suspects this won’t be the last time he has to answer this particular question.

"Apparently, _Harry_ is a more approachable name for the Golden Boy and doesn't sound so _terribly_ like a Pureblood, so Dumbledore decided that would be a better choice.“

"And aren't you the Golden Boy?“ Blaise’s tone is more teasing than anything else, so Hadrian only smirks, "Who knows? I guess we'll have to wait and see.“

Both Blaise and Theo immediately catch onto his sarcasm and as far as first impressions go, he decides that he likes his new dormmates, which is more than he expected to happen.

Before they can continue, the 5th year prefects usher them out of the room and to the Great Hall for breakfast. When the post arrives, Thanatos sweeps down onto his shoulder with his copy of the Daily Prophet, and after giving him some of the bacon from his plate and ignoring the stares directed at Thanatos, he unrolls the paper. And instantly chokes on his own food when he sees the headline. Apparently, the press finally caught on.

 

**_Peter Pettigrew found alive! Hiding as the rat that he is?_ **

_Dear readers, shocking news reached me from the DMLE last night._

_With the start of the new Hogwarts term, the new first years arrived, and with them a whole lot of drama!_

_One of the professors discovered that the rat of one of the students wasn't just a normal pet, but a man in Animagus-form – and none other than Peter Pettigrew, who was thought to be dead._

_After the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Peter Pettigrew was involved in a dispute with Sirius Black in London, resulting in a big part of the street being blown up and only Sirius Black left at the scene._

_12 Muggles died, and after the Aurors found only a finger of Pettigrew, it was widely assumed that Pettigrew lost his life in the explosion as well._

_Even more shocking is that Sirius Black never received a trial._

_Now, if Pettigrew is innocent, why hide for the last 10 years?_

_After consulting ministry files, this reporter discovered another interesting fact:_

_Hadrian Potter, mostly known as Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, just demanded a trial for Sirius Black, which is scheduled for the 30 th of September._

_Why you ask, dear readers, would Hadrian Potter demand a trial for Black, who is known as one of the most high-ranking Death Eaters and as the one who betrayed the Potters location to You-Know-Who?_

_This reporter vows to find out._

_Could it be possible that Black is innocent?_

_If that is really the case, are there more innocents in Azkaban?_

_How many were thrown into the horrible prison without a trial?_

_ Yours truly: Rita Skeeter, Correspondent of the Daily Prophet _

 

Well, at least he would get the stares and whispers about his arrival at Hogwarts and his sorting into Slytherin over at the same time as everything regarding Sirius' trial. If the Daily Prophet keeps digging, maybe even that he lives with Regulus.

Of course, it also means that Dumbledore will realise soon that he’s not his guardian anymore, and that they unsealed his parents will. Which gives him time to prepare against the accusations he’s bound to be under because he withheld the contents of said will.

He groans inaudibly and only just keeps from hitting his head against the table.

Thankfully, Snape chooses that moment to hand out their timetables and maps of the castle and as soon as he receives his, he grabs his bag and stands up. To his surprise, Blaise and Theo follow suit and walk silently next to him until they’re out of the hall.

Before they can get further than the entrance hall, a shout from behind stops them in their tracks. "Oi! Potter!“

Turning around, he sees Weasley stalking towards them, Prophet clenched in his hand, his face red and obviously angry. "You said you wouldn't harm him! What the hell is wrong with you?!“

He could understand that it must be a shock to discover that your pet wasn’t really one, that anger is a way to deal with that, and even that he’s the next best target to project that anger on, but he _really_ isn’t in the mood to deal with this right now. "Yes well, and I didn't harm him. I had a suspicion and honestly, shouldn't you rather thank me that I didn't let you keep a rat that was a grown man? It's not my fault your family never realised that 10 years is a bit old for a common rat.“

Ron’s face becomes an even darker shade of red, "And you think you're so much better than my family?!“

"Honestly, I never said that. Now if you'd excuse me.“ He rolls his eyes and turns around, exchanging exasperated glances with Blaise and Theo.

"You're really just a slimy snake, aren't you?!“ Ron shouts behind him and he snorts, throwing over his shoulder: "I never said that I wasn't.“ Thankfully, that finally shuts him up and they soon find their classroom for Defence against the Dark Arts.

It’s obvious that both Blaise and Theo are itching to ask about the article and the confrontation with Weasley, and he decides to humour them, seeing that they’re still early for their first lesson and both of them displayed some quiet solidarity.

"On the train ride he was sitting with me in the beginning, and when his rat came out my snake recognised it as an Animagus. I recently learned from the Goblins that Sirius Black wasn’t the secret keeper of our house but Peter Pettigrew, and that the latter is still alive. Black was named my godfather, so I demanded a trial, seeing he never got one in the first place. I knew Pettigrew’s Animagus is a rat, so, I bought the bloody rat from Weasley and promised him that I won't harm it. I just never said that others wouldn't either. I don't even know why he's angry at me, but well, he doesn't appear to be the brightest torch in the dungeons. That's why I talked to Snape last night.“

They’re both grinning and Theo asks hesitantly: "How is it possible that nobody found out about Black at least?“

"When my parents died, Dumbledore sealed their will and became my magical guardian. That changed within the last few years and I unsealed the will a few weeks ago. It stated that Pettigrew was the secret keeper and Black was only acting as a decoy. Seeing that Pettigrew is still alive, it’s likely that he set Black up. Why else would he hide for 10 years and let everybody think he's dead?“

Their faces change from amused to troubled very quickly, and Blaise says: “Dumbledore knew that Black might be innocent?!”

He shrugs but nods, absent-mindedly twirling his wand between his fingers. They stop their conversation as the classroom begins to fill.

He’s a little surprised with himself, he didn’t plan to let anyone know about the happenings around Sirius' trial. He expected that his involvement would come to light sooner or later, sure, but he thought he’d just ignore and deflect any questions.

But Blaise and Theo seem likeable, they both have a rather calm demeanour that resonates well with him and is very different from the children of his own age that he met so far. Not that it had been many, so maybe it shouldn't be that much of a surprise that he’s not the only person his age who’s rather aloof and reserved.

The arrival of Professor Quirrell cuts his train of thought off and reminds him that he completely forgot to ask Death about his strange magical aura. In the course of the lesson, he comes to understand that not only his aura but his whole behaviour is off.

Mostly he’s a nervous, stuttering mess, but occasionally an intelligent gleam flickers over his eyes, his voice changes slightly and the stutter suddenly seems fake. It’s rather disconcerting if he’s honest and he gets the feeling that, whatever is wrong with Quirrell, is quite serious. It also doesn't escape his notice that Quirrell’s eyes linger on him often, but he just hopes that it’s a result of his supposed fame.

Death stays suspiciously silent the whole time, strengthening his resolve to only ask him about it when he’s alone and doesn't have to act like nothing is wrong.

The lesson itself is absolutely disappointing. He has been looking forward to Defence, and while he expected to already know a lot of the first-year curriculum, Quirrell barely manages to teach them anything at all. Adding the fact that they share the class with the Gryffindors and he literally feels Weasleys’ angry stare at his back, he’s more than glad when they can finally leave.

"Well, that was disappointing.“ he murmurs to Blaise and Theo while they make their way to the Greenhouses. They both agree and appear to get the hint to not pick up their earlier topic of conversation again. They obviously forgot his side remark about Atana and with her sleeping in the warmth of his robes, he’s saved from disclosing any more of his secrets for now. Not that she’s going to stay one for long, but there are only so many revelations he can stomach on one morning.

He ignores the stares and whispers from the Ravenclaws they share Herbology with and thankfully Professor Sprout doesn’t single him out. He always liked working in the garden and knowing a lot about magical plants is more than a little useful for potions. That also means that Regulus already covered most of the stuff they would learn in first year, but the work is still kind of soothing and manages to take his mind off things.

While the whispers continue during lunch, nobody approaches him directly and at least most of the Slytherins are subtle about their interest, apart from Malfoy that is. The blonde looks like he’s battling with himself. Maybe he finally gets that his way of introduction hasn't been his best idea, but probably struggles to accept that someone wouldn't grovel for his attention.

Following Pureblood customs, he would have to either apologise or wait until Hadrian makes a move towards him, while his curiosity probably begs him to just ask. Not that Hadrian personally cares all that much about customs, but it’s better to not let everybody know that this early on. Besides, it’s very amusing to watch Malfoy struggle, so he definitely intends to let him stew.

They share Transfiguration with the Gryffindors again and he inwardly groans. He doesn't really have a problem with the house by itself, but they appear to be personally offended by his sorting, Weasley is still glaring daggers at him and one of the girls is nearly falling over herself in the attempt to prove that she managed to read the textbooks beforehand.

While he likes the subject, it’s like in Defence and Herbology – he covered the stuff already and transfigures his match on the first try. Professor McGonagall is impressed and rewards him with 10 points, telling him he should try to add more details to his needle, and he finally understands Regulus' warning about studying ahead. It would secure him a place high in the student-ranks, but it’s also utterly boring.

Adding details to his needle isn't really a challenge either, but after presenting his result, he’s at least allowed to start on the essay they would receive as homework. The aforementioned Gryffindor girl throws him a look that seems to say that she believes him to be cheating, and he wonders if she really thinks so highly of herself that she can’t imagine that there are people better than her, or if she simply doesn't get that cheating would require way more skill than a simple transformation.

No matter which one is true, he could have a lot of fun with it if he’s inclined. There’s a lot more to magic than reading books. As much as he loves them, even _he_ is aware of that since an early age.

Their last class of the day is Charms with the Hufflepuffs. He has to correct the teacher about his name, after he fell over at reaching it on his list, and the content isn't anything new for him either. He knows that he should’ve anticipated this, he spent the last 4 years learning everything he could get his hands on – and practically living in the Black library meant there had been a lot – but he didn’t expect to be that bored on his first day.

At least they have nearly 2 hours left before dinner and decide to explore the library, which thankfully lives up to its promise. Soon he’s completely immersed in a book about Magical Theory, and both he and Theo would have probably missed dinner if Blaise didn’t pull them back into the real world.

This really doesn't seem to be his day though, because shortly before dinner ends, Snape approaches him with the message that Dumbledore wants to see him in his office.

"Fantastic,” he groans but stands up from his seat. “Do you know what he wants, Sir?“

"Unfortunately, Mr. Potter-Black, the Headmaster wasn’t inclined to tell me, I am only to escort you,“ Snape drawls, his face impassive.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't every student have the right to demand the presence of their Head of House when they're ordered to the Headmaster?“

"That is correct. Am I to assume that you wish me to be present, then?“

"If it’s not too much trouble, I'd prefer that Professor,“ Hadrian smirks, mentally slapping himself on the shoulder for having read the bloody school rules.

They walk to the office in silence, only interrupted by Snape giving the password, and they soon enter the circular, slightly clustered room. Dumbledore sits behind a huge desk, eyes twinkling and a benevolent smile on his face.

He suppresses a shudder of revulsion at the sensation of Dumbledore’s magic. It feels sluggish and like it’s pressing down on him, too heavy and bright, as if trying to rob him of his energy and threatening to give him a headache. If he had to find a metaphor, he'd compare it to a hot and humid summer-day, uncomfortable and utterly draining.

"Thank you, Severus. That will be all,“ the origin of his sudden discomfort says, and Hadrian softly clears his throat.

"Actually Headmaster, I'd like to make use of the right to have my Head of House present.“

"Of course, of course, my boy. Please, take a seat, Harry.“

He has to clench his teeth to not snap while sitting down, but outwardly he simply smiles amiably and says in an even tone: "Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore, we don't know each other and I'd prefer to be called Mr. Potter-Black, as all my teachers do. Besides, my name is Hadrian and not Harry, just in case we ever get to first-name basis.“

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes dims and his smile slips for the fraction of a second, but it’s enough for him to notice.

He wonders what excuse Dumbledore will use for ordering him here and if he’ll try anything when he feels the slightest brush against his Occlumency shields. He doesn't let his anger show, fiddling with his wand to calm himself, and asks as pleasantly as humanly possible: "How can I help you, Professor? I hope I didn't do anything wrong yet?“

Dumbledore straightens up in his seat, probably a bit confused that he can’t get a read on him. His eyes flicker to his hands, but his rings are hidden, and he plans to keep it that way. He quite likes the idea of throwing Dumbledore off, which is why he didn’t bother to pull up any false images. He won’t be able to talk to anyone about it – performing Legilimency without consent or court order is highly illegal, especially on a minor.

"No, no you didn't. First, I just wished to ask with whom you are currently living? The Goblins just informed me that you have a new magical guardian. I don't know why it took them so long, and they didn't tell me when, or why this change happened, so I find myself a little curious and concerned.“ Dumbledore finally says, no signs of his confusion visible on his face.

He bites back a scoff because that’s just hilarious, isn't it? He and Regulus talked about how to break the news to Dumbledore, and their assumption that he’ll only find out when Hadrian starts school and something noteworthy happens has just proven to be correct. But they also decided that Hadrian would simply tell him when asked because Dumbledore can view the documents at the Ministry and trying to keep it from him would only raise unjustified suspicion.

"I'm living with Lord Black since shortly before my 9th birthday. But as my previous magical guardian, shouldn't you have realised this sooner?” He asks, eyes wide and innocent. “I mean, I know we never met and I already assumed that you didn't know much about my living situation with the Dursleys because, to be honest, it was...” He trails off for a moment and fixes his eyes on his hands as if it pains him to talk about this.

“It was worse than unpleasant and I'm sure, that if you had known you would’ve done something, but I thought that you at least had some source about my well-being?“ As far as he can tell he managed to sound completely innocent and only curious, and mentally sends a short thank-you to the portraits at Grimmauld for all their training in acting. He doesn't dare to chance a look at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black he knows to be in the office, but he hopes that the man will let the others at Grimmauld’s know about this conversation.

"Of course, Mr. Potter, the wards around the property would have informed me if anything happened to you. As it stands, I'm actually wondering how it is possible that they seem to be still intact, and unfortunately, I have to inform you that you will have to move back to your relatives in the summer. I'm sure that you got used to living with Mr. Black, but it simply is safer, and after all, you're related to your aunt.“

He swallows the anger rising in his throat, all the words he wants to snarl at the pure audacity. Instead, he frowns as if confused and takes a slow, calming breath. “With all due respect, Sir. Your suggestion is noted, but that’s not for you to decide. I’m sure you didn’t know about my earlier living circumstances and I won’t elaborate, but I’m safer at the Black residence than I could possibly be at Privet Drive.”

Dumbledore opens his mouth as if to say something, but he ignores it. “I don’t know how the wards are still intact” – which is a lie, they aren’t and Dumbledore would know that if he ever checked personally – “but if you have further concerns for my safety, I’m sure Lord Black will gladly answer your questions. Now, is there anything else you want to talk to me about?”  

Dumbledore looks as frustrated as Hadrian feels, but he obviously realises that he won’t be getting anywhere and probably already plans to bother Regulus with this.

It still catches him by surprise when the next words are: "Yes, I wanted to offer you the opportunity to get resorted.“

"And why would I want that, Sir?“ Honestly, this is all getting more ridiculous by the minute.

"Well, I'm not sure if Mr. Black let you know this, but a lot of the children in Slytherin are from families that supported Voldemort in the war, and I fear they might take offence at your presence.“

Wow, a thinly veiled dig at Regulus, insulting and generalizing Slytherin students, doubting Snape’s capacity as Head of House and questioning his own ability to defend himself, as well as assuming that he was sorted wrongly, all in one short sentence. Hadrian is impressed.

"Thank you for your consideration, Headmaster but I think I'm fine. To be honest, the Slytherins have shown the most respect and I'm sure that Professor Snape will be able to help should any problems arise. And of course Lord Black warned me, but the hat was of the opinion that it’s the best house for me and I trust its judgement,“ he smiles pleasantly, _again,_ hoping with all he has that Dumbledore doesn't have anything else to 'suggest' because his face is starting to hurt and he’s reaching the end of his patience.

Thankfully, Snape seems to notice the building tension in the room, as Dumbledore currently looks like he swallowed something particularly nasty, and says: "Headmaster, it's nearly curfew. Should I escort Mr. Potter-Black back to the common room?“

"Yes, thank you, Severus. I think that will be all.“

Hadrian exhales slowly in relief, glad that the Headmaster doesn't get into the topic of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. It isn't all that surprising, considering the role he played in the whole disaster, but Hadrian doesn't know enough about how exactly Dumbledore works and isn't sure if he would've been able to play this game for another 30 Minutes.

Getting up from his chair, he throws an inconspicuous look at Phineas, who smirks proudly at him from behind Dumbledore, placating at least some of his anger. "Thank you for your time Headmaster. Goodnight,“ he greets, and quickly follows Snape out of the door.

They’re silent until they reach the dungeons. Only then Snape says: "I have to admit that was kind of impressive Mr. Potter-Black, he didn't even get to offering you a Lemon Drop. I just hope that you know what you're doing.“

"Well, I'm still pretty young, especially compared to Professor Dumbledore, but I'm sure I didn't do or say anything that would warrant any suspicion, apart from the simple fact that I'm not exactly like he wants me to be. And I'm not planning on playing a role someone else chose for me without ever being asked. Not even for Albus Dumbledore. I don’t want to antagonise him, but I won't be his puppet either.“

"Fair enough, I wish you the best of luck. Goodnight Mr. Potter-Black.“

"Thank you for accompanying me, Sir.“

 

He ignores the few students in the common room, slips into his dorm and falls face-first onto his bed, groaning. That was definitely one of the most taxing acts he ever had to do, and he has the vague impression that it will only get worse. He feels Atana slither down his arm and only now realises that she has been surprisingly silent and well-behaved during his visit with Dumbledore.

Pulling himself into a sitting position he glances at Blaise and Theo, who both look like they want to ask but aren't sure if they should.

"Does one of you have an aversion or phobia to snakes?“ he asks, ignoring the elephant in the room for a second.

They look a little puzzled at that, so he lets his sleeve fall back, gesturing to the dark-grey snake. They both shake their heads and after he murmurs a 'Well then' under his breath, he hisses at Atana that she can unshrink herself. He waits until she reaches her original size and curls in his lap before looking back at his dormmates, who are both gaping at him. Which is saying something, as they have been nothing but poised and well-composed until now. But speaking Parseltongue probably warrants that reaction, even in Slytherin.

 _$Look Hatchling, we made them speechless!$_ Atana comments gleefully and he runs his fingers down her scales fondly.

_$Of course we did, we're special like that.$_

"Oh Salazar, this is amazing. The whole school will freak out when they find out that you're a Parselmouth and have a huge snake!“ Blaise laughs breathlessly, watching while Atana coils herself around his shoulders and torso, preening at the attention.

"Did you unshrink her when you hissed at her?“ Theo asks, also looking amused at this new revelation.

He’s once again glad that he was sorted into Slytherin, as well as for his roommates because it couldn't have gone over better than this. "No, she's able to change size herself. I had to do it the first year or so but as it's Parselmagic and she's a magical snake, she learned it eventually.“

"So Parselmagic really is a thing?“

"Yes, it's quite amazing actually. As the language is magical in itself, the connection between language and magic is more pronounced and you mostly just give commands, like 'Shrink', but it also can only be undone in Parseltongue, so if I used a glamour for example, only I or another Parselmouth would be able to undo it. Same with curses, shields, wards, and so on.“

Theo looks completely intrigued by now, but Blaise averts the impending discussion on the theory behind it by grinning and says: "You know, maybe the whole school will freak out, but the Slytherins will worship you. Or do you plan to keep it a secret?“

"Honestly, I don't think I could even if I wanted to,” he shrugs. “I already checked the school rules and with Snape. She's my bonded familiar, so I'm allowed to have her, and I think the whole idea that Parseltongue is evil is utterly ridiculous. I'm not planning to hide it, or her, simply because of other people’s stupid prejudices. I probably won't let her roam the halls in her original size, but she'd have my head in my sleep if I made her stay small and hidden for the next seven years, so the Slytherins at least will have to get used to her.“

 _$Of course, I would, I'm not something to keep hidden!$_ Hadrian snorts at her comment, fondly shaking his head.

"What did she say?" Blaise asked curiously and he repeats her quip.

"I'm actually surprised that the school doesn't know already,” he adds, only now thinking about it. “When she smelled that Weasleys’ rat was actually an Animagus, she unshrank herself and nearly attacked it. I had to talk to her to find out what the hell was going on, as she was supposed to stay hidden for the time being. Weasley was scared shitless, wouldn't stop screaming, which might be the only reason why he didn't tell anyone. Or he thought that nobody would believe him, I have no idea.“

"Maybe he thinks you'd resent him if he told anyone?“ Theo suggests, and he tilts his head, pondering that.

"Maybe, but that would mean that he cares what I think about him and I didn't appear to be his favourite person today.“

"Be that as it may, you're still the boy-who-lived and he probably doesn't want to get on your bad side.“

"Salazar, I hate that title, but you might be right,” he groans. “I wonder how long it will take until people realise that they'll get on my bad side pretty quickly with their preconceived notions and absurd honorifics,“ he adds under his breath, more to himself but they obviously hear him.

Both Blaise and Theo look surprised and he’s honestly a bit astounded by himself, _again,_ that he just admitted that so freely. But he supposes if he can do it anywhere without having to fear an instant negative reaction, it’s in Slytherin.

"You're really nothing like I expected you to be," Blaise muses with a thoughtful expression.

He smirks, "Why, thank you, Blaise. That’s so nice of you to say,“ causing them to laugh.

"Was that what Dumbledore wanted to talk to you about? The whole disaster with Pettigrew?“ Theo asks and he pulls a face at the reminder.

"No, first he asked who I'm living with right now. As I told you this morning, he was my magical guardian but that changed 2 years ago without him even noticing, because he never checked on me. After he found out I'm living with Lord Black he tried to convince me to go back to my Muggle relatives, arguing I would be safer there.“ He scoffs, still annoyed about the insolence.

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of his anger. "I told him, in a very friendly manner of course, that it isn't any of his business and that I'm fine where I am. He then 'offered' me to get resorted 'for my own safety', which I also kindly refused. At that point, we were both frustrated I think, and Professor Snape fortunately intervened and accompanied me back. I don't know why he thinks that he has any right to make decisions about me, but I doubt that this is the last time he tried.“

Both of them are frowning and they’re all silent for a few moments, with Atana muttering a lot of threats and insults under her breath which at least makes him smile.

"Living with Lord Black, huh? I bet he loved that,“ Theo says eventually, his eyes slightly calculating.

"Oh yes, he was ecstatic.“ Hadrian grins, not bothered by the change in demeanour.

"Blaise was right, you really are full of surprises, aren't you?“

He only shrugs his left shoulder and smirks.

* * *

The next morning, he receives a letter from Regulus. Apparently, Phineas told him about the conversation between him and Dumbledore and Regulus wants to know if he can make an official statement to the press about Sirius’ trial and the guardianship.

There’s no doubt that the news will get out eventually and the public attention would be easier to control if the information comes from them before rumours spread. The House of Black has good relations to the press so it’s a smart idea.

He’s not looking forward to _more_ attention but he knew that this was coming, prepared himself for it really, and so it’s less of a question if he’s okay with it, but how to word his own short statement that he would send to Regulus to include.

Seeing that his first lesson of the day is Defence again, he decides to write his response then because Professor Quirrell will probably neither notice his different occupation nor his performance of the Concealment Spell.

That reminds him that he once again forgot to ask Death about Quirrell and that his companion has been unusually silent since he arrived at Hogwarts.

 _“Hey Death, you alright old man? No sarcastic comments or bashings, even with such a varied selection of mortals?”_ he asks in his head, deciding that he needs to know the reason for this strange silence now if he doesn't want to worry the whole day. He feels a bit guilty for letting his oldest friend slip from his mind so easily.

_'Don't you worry, little one. I simply decided to give you a few days to get used to your new surroundings and let you form your own opinions. If I commented on everything going on around you, you wouldn't have had a second of silence since you boarded the train, so enjoy it while it lasts. You're quite correct that there is something wrong with Quirrell, but I'll tell you about that tonight. Ah, and you should look for a place where you can continue your training from next week on, don't think that just because you're going to school now, I will let you slack off.'_

Hadrian hides his grin behind his hand, shaking his head at Blaise’s questioning look. This is exactly the reason why he didn’t try to talk to him in company, but at least some things are bound to stay the same.

He’s pleased with the fact that they’ll continue with his training, next to the library and the tentative friendship forming with his dormmates, it would save him from the boredom his classes turn out to be.

Defence and Charms in the morning are followed by their first History lesson, which would have put him to sleep within the first 10 minutes if he didn’t have his own book to read – which is remarkable, as he normally likes History a lot.

After their last lesson of the day, Transfiguration again, he and Blaise go to the library, Theo and another Slytherin girl staying behind to talk.

Instead of doing his assignments in class after he finished his practical exercises, he started to help other students with their spell work. Not because he’s such a nice person or cares all that much about their abilities – he just knows that it gives him the chance to make sure that he really understands what he’s talking about and, as a bonus, provokes professors and students alike to like him, instead of thinking him a show-off or know-it-all.

Only Blaise seems to see what exactly he’s doing and sent him the occasional amused look, which, honestly, scares him a little. Nobody has ever been able to read him so easily and quickly. But he gets the impression that Blaise has that ability with everyone and rather enjoys his acting. Besides, he likes Blaise well enough and isn't all that bad at reading him in return, so he simply resigns himself to serve as amusement.

The arrival of Theo and the girl he has been talking to, stops his analysis of Blaise. She’s tall for her age, with long, light-blond hair and icy blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, thin lips and the typical poise of a Pureblood. She’s unquestionably pretty in a cold kind of way.

"Hey, this is Daphne Greengrass. Mind if we join you?“ Theo introduces her, while she’s inclining her head slightly.

"Hi, I'm Hadrian Potter-Black. Of course not, I haven't even started on my homework yet. Nice to meet you, Ms. Greengrass.“

"It's nice to meet you too. And call me Daphne, please.“ she smiles pleasantly, nodding to Blaise who apparently knows her already.

"Then call me Hadrian, please.“

Both of them join them at the table and they’re soon immersed in a discussion about their classes of the last two days. While the other three haven't been as quick as him at the practical parts, they all had tutors before coming to Hogwarts and are equally disappointed at the slow pace the theory is going.

The topic is certainly interesting and reminds him of what Regulus told him about some of Voldemort’s original goals, but it’s obvious that especially Theo holds back many of his opinions about the possible reasons behind the slow pace of their classes.

Considering that his father has been one of the first Death Eaters and raised Theo alone after his mother died, Hadrian can take a few guesses on what the other boy is thinking. He also doesn't need to be a genius to figure out why Theo would be wary with stating his thoughts around him, and after pondering his options, he decides to ignore it for the time being. Some things can't be forced and they’ll have enough time in the next few years to get deeper into certain topics.

They start on their homework eventually and, between the four of them, finish just in time for dinner. He decides that he likes Daphne. She’s certainly smart and carries herself with calm confidence and an unobtrusive no-nonsense attitude while possessing a sharp tongue and a dry humour at the same time. She also doesn't show any kind of preconceived expectations about him and is simply friendly and maybe slightly curious, something he definitely appreciates after having met more than one star-strucked student today while helping out.

The opinion of the students about his sorting appears to be divided into those that find it offensive on a personal level or are already convinced that he’s going 'dark', some that think that it must’ve been against his will and as a result pity him, and thankfully a lot of those that couldn't care less. There are few to none that really approve of it, seeing that most of the Slytherins are still at least unsure about his presence and silently observe for the time being. That suits him just fine, as he’s doing the same for now.

* * *

All the first years have Astronomy at midnight and most want to catch a nap beforehand, while he decides to use the time for his overdue talk with Death. He’s used to staying up late and they have the first period free the next day, so at least he’ll be able to sleep in. Moreover, he _really_ wants to know what’s up with Quirrell. The second lesson today hasn't been any better than the first, Quirrell was still staring at him a lot and seemed to alternate between attitudes.

_“So, are you going to tell me what’s up with the poor man? It looks like something is eating away at his magic.“_

_“Well, you're not completely wrong. You're also not going to like this, at all.“_

_“That sounds like it could affect me personally. Fantastic. Just tell me please, delaying it probably won't make it better.“_ He can hear Death’s creaky sigh echoing in his hand and wonders how bad it could possibly be that Death sounds aggravated. Well, as aggravated as he ever got.

_"Quirrell is possessed by the wraith of Voldemort that was wandering since that Samhain night“_

Well, that would explain it. _“Salazar, will I ever catch a break?! I thought Hogwarts is meant to be safe?!“_ He buries his face in his hands, wondering if he maybe should change schools. Nobody would look for him at Durmstrang for example, right?

_"It gets worse, little one.“_

He flops back onto his back and exhales in a rush, his hand finding Atana almost automatically in a need for comfort. _"Spill it, then. No need for suspense and all that. Does it have to do with whatever they put on the 3rd floor?“_

_“Indeed. Apparently, now that you're at Hogwarts, Dumbledore decided that he 'wants to test the water', so to speak. He convinced his old friend Nicolas Flamel to lend him the Philosophers Stone, by telling him that he just found a reason to suspect that Voldemort is not gone for good and he needed something to lure him out of hiding. That last part is true of course, unlike his promise to keep it completely safe.”_

Death sounds seriously angry and grumbles something that Hadrian doesn’t catch but continues before he can ask. _“There are a couple of protections that are, in my humble opinion, simply ridiculous, you wouldn't have much of a problem to get past them. It's only the last one that could cause Voldemort at least some kind of delay, and Dumbledore is relying on that. His goal is to stage a confrontation between the two of you, or to at least figure out what you're willing to risk, to prevent his return. Of course, there are a hundred ways this could go wrong, but the old fool always was too sure of himself._   _He didn't even realise yet that one of his teachers is possessed, unfortunately I'm not sure if he would do something about it if he found out.“_

Hadrian presses his pillow over his face and shouts, glad that he put up a Silencing Charm despite the conversation happening in his head. Circe, it’s only his first week and he already has the insane seventh part of Voldemort as his Defence professor.

After he calmed down enough to at least quickly think the whole thing over and form coherent sentences again, he concentrates back on his mental link to Death. _“So, that means that not only is Voldemort currently residing in the school, but he's also in close proximity to an artefact that would resurrect him in his insane state of mind, while Dumbledore will do nothing about it, just so he can find out if I will do something about it?! That's probably one of the most stupid plans I've ever heard!“_

_“No doubt about that. Voldemort is quite weak in his current state and I doubt he will actively try to kill you, as long as you don't give him ample opportunity. It will also take him a lot of time to figure out the protections on the stone and find a way to surpass the last one, and I'm unsure how far Dumbledore would let him get, but it's without question a dangerous gamble.“_

_"Well, that’s comforting,”_ he snorts. _“So... the smartest thing would be to either expose him or to get to the stone before he does, am I right?“_

Death sighs again, and this time it really does sound concerned. _“Considering Dumbledore’s impulse to use the stone as a bait, getting it beforehand and letting it disappear mysteriously seems like your best bet, especially taking into account that it could be used to stabilise the Resurrection ritual Regulus has figured out. Apart from that, simply exposing Quirrell will most likely cause him to flee, giving Voldemort a chance to find another way to get his own body back. Leaving him in the belief that he’s going to get the stone will at least keep him here and occupied, while Quirrell’s body is slowly fading, ending with him as a wraith again."_

 _"Stealing the Philosophers Stone it is then"_ Hadrian sighs, adding _"I'm too young for this shit"_ for good measure.

_"That you are, little one. But you have time to plan this through, I will let you know about all the traps and their solutions and add wards as additional protection. I’m not saying it'll be easy, but it's better than the alternatives of either confronting Quirrell directly or taking the risk of letting Voldemort get his body back."_

_"Well, seems like I have my work cut out for me. At least I won't be able to complain about boredom any longer."_

They talk a bit more, Death giving him a general overview of the protections on the stone and advising him to wait at least until after Yule. It gives him enough time to plan and by then there will hopefully be less attention on him.

He spends the rest of his time before Astronomy repeating the conversation to Atana, who offers to simply bite Dumbledore and Quirrell and be done with the whole mess. He declines the offer for now but keeps the idea in the back of his mind for the latter. It wouldn't be the worst option if it came to a confrontation between them and he could easily frame it as self-defence.

He also ponders if he should tell Regulus about the whole thing, fearing that he might simply storm the school in a fit of rage. Whenever Dumbledore came up in the last months before school, the infamous Black madness wasn't far from the surface. Hadrian isn't so sure that his self-restraint would hold against much more, so he decides to keep it quiet for now.

* * *

It’s only due to his ability to compartmentalize his emotions that he doesn't show any signs of anger or agitation over the next few days. He keeps helping other students during class, talks with Blaise, Theo and Daphne, who joins them more often since the day in the library, and does his schoolwork like everybody else.

It would be a complete disaster if Voldemort got the stone and is resurrected right now, and he can't for the life of him get behind Dumbledore’s logic. Is he really that sure about the prophecy that he thinks a first-year blessed enough to somehow defeat the Dark Lord? Or maybe he just hopes to get the whole thing over with while Hadrian is still young and, as a result, not as dangerous as Dumbledore fears him to become, but that doesn't change the fact that it’s an unreasonable risk to take.

On Friday evening his irritation finally reaches its peak. The Prophet published Regulus’ statement that morning, and while it was a good article, mentioning Hadrian’s own opinion about how much he enjoys living with Lord Black and that he’s grateful for the chance of growing up in a wizarding home instead of with Muggles that feared his magic, it resulted in a new high of whispers and stares following him the whole day.

The day before he got into another confrontation with Malfoy, who attempted to steal the Remembrall of a quiet and shy Gryffindor who fell off his broom. Hadrian hates bullying with a passion, undoubtedly a relict from the time he spent in Dudley’s company, and summoned the thing directly out of Malfoys hand, reprimanding him about not even picking an opponent who was present.

After the story spread, many Slytherins threw him more hostile and judging looks instead of simply observing him. They probably see it as him taking a stand with the light families, instead of being loyal to his house, and he expects a confrontation sooner than later. Not that it’s a surprise, he expected that he would have to prove himself eventually and isn't all that worried, but with everything else he has on his mind, the sneers and whispered comments are grating on his nerves.

He disappeared after potions this morning, needing some time to himself to sort through everything that happened within less than a week, but during his wandering of the grounds he got intercepted by Hagrid. The Groundskeeper invited him for tea, mentioning that he knew his parents, and while he _really_ wanted to be alone, there wasn't a good excuse to decline without raising questions, considering who Hagrid is loyal to.

He suffered through the tea and awkward conversation, noticing the Prophet from a few days ago about the Gringotts break-in on the table and how Hagrid touched the topic more than once, completely by chance of course. It couldn't have been more obvious what he was trying to do, and it didn't help to calm Hadrian’s temper regarding Dumbledore’s _great plan._

So, when he returns to the common room and finds the better part of the house there, with some 3rd year taking his wand as soon as he steps through the door, he just barely contains his glee about _finally_ being able to hex someone and get some of the pent-up frustration out of his system.

He keeps his posture relaxed and his face blank, only tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. Atana tightens around his neck and he just hopes she'll stay hidden until he’s finished. He waited to reveal her to the other Slytherins for this kind of situation, needing to show that he can defend himself magically just fine, otherwise it'd look like he’s hiding behind his pet and that could prompt others to attack her. Or well, _try_ to attack her, anyway.

He finds Blaise’s slightly worried and questioning eyes in the corner of the room and shakes his head marginally, indicating that he doesn't need any help. Still, he feels warmth bubble up in his chest at the willingness to support him.

If his observations over the last week are correct, no student above 3rd year will actively bother with him, which suits him just fine. He doubts he’s _that_ advanced yet. It won't keep them from watching though, and he plans to make it worth their time.

After a few moments where everybody awaits his reaction, two boys step forward who he thinks he recognises as Miles Bletchley and Graham Montague, the first holding his wand up and taunting: "What's up Potter, don't you even understand what this means?“

He just gives a serene smile in response, which seems to unnerve and anger Bletchley in equal measures if his flush and darting eyes are anything to go by. "You think that your status as 'the Saviour' or the fact that you're the Black heir will help you here? Well, let me tell you, you're not welcome and I think we should teach you a little lesson, golden boy.“

Both raise their wands and out of the corner of his eye, he catches how the smug smile on Malfoys face slips when he throws up a shield before the two jets of light can reach him. They weren’t even harmful hexes, only a Leglocker and a Babbling Jinx, probably with the goal to humiliate him.

He cackles inwardly at the stumped looks at his blatant use of wandless magic and says calmly: "You know, it's not that I don't understand the use of a wand, it's just that unlike you little cretin, I don't need it for doing this.“ With another flick of his fingers, he sends Montague flying into the wall, followed by a Petrificus Totalus at Bletchley and a Furunculus at both of them for good measure.

Still keeping up his shield, he sweeps his gaze through the room again, satisfied with the silence that has spread. He lets the masks on his magic fall, letting it fill up the room and allows a small smirk to appear on his face. "Anybody else wants to try their luck?“

At the continued stillness of everyone, he summons his wand back to him and says: "I thought so. I know, most of you that are above 3rd year probably won't bother me and I'm realistic enough to acknowledge that I'd probably have a hard time with anyone above 4th year, but just in case you get any ideas, I want to introduce you to someone who would get _very upset_ if you tried.“

At his words, Atana appears from under his robes, lifting her head and observing the room. He hears some older students snicker, presumably at her size, and making eye-contact he hisses: _$Unshrink yourself, please?$_

While she’s growing to her full size and curling around him, hissing nonsense about her enjoyment of the fear she can smell, he lets a real grin cross his face, running his fingers over her scales and relishing in the rapidly changing facial expressions around him. While most of them looked surprised and some even slightly shocked after he hexed the two 3rd years, now every student without exception displays some degree of fear in their eyes. Most of them mixed with a little awe and incredulity.

He doesn't doubt for a second that some of them not only heard stories about Voldemort but have seen memories as well, and the ability of Parseltongue is closely associated with the currently absent Dark Lord – which is also one of the reasons why it’s so feared in Britain, as stupid as that may be.

"Let me tell you now that I don't care about being the 'boy-who-lived' or 'the saviour'. I don't care if someone is light or dark as long as they don't antagonise me or people that are important to me. And while I wanted to be sorted into Slytherin and the hat agreed with me, I also don't care about house prejudices just for the sake of it. So, I suggest that you get over that little problem of yours about me helping students of other houses and me being labelled as something I'm not, and either get to know me or stay out of my way.“ His voice is still pleasant but there’s an unmistakable edge to it and a clear warning in his eyes.

 _$Very impressive little Hatchling, I taught you well$_ Atana teases, bumping her head softly against his nose.

_$Of course, all thanks to you, your highness.$_

_$May I scare them a little more? Their faces are doing funny things and I like smelling their fear.$_

He rolls his eyes and grins affectionately at her antics. _$So you said. Leave them be for now, you sadistic little beast. I suppose getting owned by a first-year is a hard pill to swallow.$_

While she seems to pout at that he lets his eyes wander over the students once more, sending a smirk in Malfoys direction and a wink at a highly amused Blaise, before clapping his hands together, grinning widely when some of them jump at the sudden sound. "Well, if that's all, I'll leave you to it.“

With that he makes his way over to the dorms, waving his hand lazily at Bletchley to end the Petrification and wondering what it says about him that his mood is way better now than it has been the last few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly never got the plot of the first book, I mean honestly, coincidently, after 500 years Flamel needs a new place to hide the Philosopher Stone and coincidently Voldemort hears about this and coincidently all the obstacles are so easy 3 first years make it through? Sure.  
> (I'm sorry for the mini-rant, this has bothered me for so long lol) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos and bookmarks and so on, it's a real motivation and so rewarding to see that you like what I'm doing here! <3

Draco Malfoy made a mistake.

Well, mistake may be a bit harsh, let's say he miscalculated. Yes, that's better. Malfoys don't make mistakes, his father made sure to teach him this.

When Harry – no, _Hadrian_ Potter-Black was sorted into Slytherin he sensed a chance. The name isn't spoken with as much reverence in his family as in many other households, but Draco was still well aware of the advantages a friendship with the 'boy-who-lived' could grant him.

Okay, and maybe he would have liked to make a friend that, for once, he chose for himself, but he'd rather not confess that too loudly, not even in the depth of his own mind.

While most people believed that Hadrian Potter grew up in a secluded wizarding family, and absolutely nobody knew with whom, people with good connections in the ministry were aware that he grew up with blood family. Everybody knows that there’s nothing left of the Potter line, so it was assumed that it was family of his mother’s side. _Muggles._ His father found that particularly amusing, their _Saviour_ growing up with _Muggles_ and shared his knowledge with Draco before he had gone off to Hogwarts.

The first surprise was the sorting. Thankfully, not only to Draco – but then he miscalculated and instead of impressing him and appearing to be helpful he let his indignation get the better of him and was a little rude. Maybe more than a little, he always has a hard time controlling his temper.

He would never admit it, but he’s well aware that he lived a very easy life until now and that his parents spoil him, especially his mother. His father can be rather demanding and unforgiving when it doesn't involve material things, but apart from 'important life-lessons' and meals they don't spend that much time together. He still looks up to his father though, so he would never complain.

Nevertheless, he knows that he has never been denied anything he wanted and as a result didn’t cope very well with the initial rejection.

And at first, he didn't care all that much that he insulted him. It might be Hadrian Potter, but disregarding his fame and the admiration he receives from the Light Side, there isn't anything special about him, is it?

Draco has a sensitivity to magic and he felt nothing more than a slight hum from him, so he couldn't have much magical power. Of course, three heir titles would make him an impressive and important influence later, but Draco doubted that he’ll want to use that one day, or that he really knows what it means.

Now, nearly two weeks later, he second-guesses his initial conclusions quite a lot.

First, Potter went and excelled in all their classes. He gets every spell on the first try, and while rarely raising his hand without being asked, when called upon he always knows the answer. Only in potions, they’re more or less on even footing and Draco could admit that it’s only because of the years that Severus taught him at the Manor.

It made him jealous, but even more than that it confused him. He couldn't feel anything from him while he _has_ to be powerful to achieve those results. Theory only gets you so far. After the Prophet revealed that Potter lived with his Uncle Regulus for the last 2 years, some things made more sense, but he knows that Regulus wouldn't have gotten him a wand before Hogwarts, so he still had no idea how the boy managed to ace every single class.

Then – yes well, then there was the confrontation in the Slytherin common room. Draco had been absolutely certain that Potter would be taken down a peg and that his defeat would secure Draco his rightful place on top of the first-year hierarchy, heir to three important families or not.

Maybe mistake is the right word after all, no matter what his father says. The only consolation is that the whole house made the same one, except Blaise that is. _He_ had a knowing glint in his eyes before Hadrian even entered the common room, and then he only looked amused.

Potter hexed two 3rd years, without a wand, without even looking worried. Draco had felt admiration bubble up in his chest, eating away at his envy, and he _hated_ it.

As if that wasn’t enough, he continued with letting the masks on his magic down and Draco nearly staggered under the feeling that swiftly coiled around him, cold and dark and so, so intoxicating. He never felt anything comparable before and his thoughts raced and tumbled in an attempt to piece his picture of this boy, who is just as old as him, together with the sheer amount of magic, the control he has at not only using but masking it and everything else he learned in a too short amount of time.

While only very few possess a strong sensitivity like his own, many noticed the change in the air, the sudden pressure, the urge to just _submit_ , and he wonders just how much stronger Potter would get in the next few years.

To top it all off, Potter is a Parselmouth with a huge snake, most likely anticipated the whole confrontation and waited for the right moment to reveal that little piece of information.

Draco wouldn't even call it admiration anymore, the strange mix of awe, reverence and the slightly scary _need_ to be closer to him, to the feeling of his magic, that has nothing to do with his status as the 'boy-who-lived'.

Nobody doubts his sorting anymore, that he knows exactly how Slytherin works or that he will keep his place on top of the hierarchy. Or that he didn’t even show all his assets that night. And neither about Draco’s miscalculation, or mistake, or _whatever._

The point is, that if he doesn't want to be out of the game more than he has already gotten himself, he needs to apologise and it needs to be honest, not a banal excuse for a social faux pas. He doesn't even want to start on this strange, new longing to be friends with him. It makes him feel uncomfortable and wrong-footed, like he just missed the last step on the stairs and lost his equilibrium.

The fact that many Slytherins had a change in demeanour towards Potter since that night, obvious to anyone who knows what to look for, doesn't make his quest any easier and he already delayed the whole thing several times. He also never had to give an honest apology before. There aren't many people with a status above the Malfoys, and there has never been _anyone_ he _wanted_ to be close to this badly. It’s infuriating and exhilarating in equal measures.

In the end, it doesn't happen with an elaborated plan or even on purpose. It’s a week after the encounter in the common room and Draco is in the library, searching for a book on a potion theory he somehow got into.

He snaps out of the scanning of book titles at the sound of approaching footsteps and sees Potter walking through the aisle he’s standing in. The other only spares him a passing glance and before he can stop himself, words are tumbling out of him.

"Listen, Potter, I want to apologize. I know I was rude at the start of term fest and I didn't mean to be that condescending,“ he cringes, noticing the blank stare he receives in response and that he didn’t think this through at all.

Digging his nails into the palm of his hands and pushing past his nerves and the beating of his heart in his throat he presses on: "I underestimated you and made unwarranted assumptions. I know apologizing now sounds like I'm only doing it because I realised you're powerful and I won't lie, it's one of the reasons but it's not only that, so yes, I- I am sorry.“ He knows his face is sporting a full-blown flush and he has to fight the urge to fidget while the slightly unnatural green eyes assess him with a calculating look that makes him feel exposed.

Potter tilts his head a little and his lips stretch into a smirk, but there’s also some amusement dancing in his eyes when he asks: "What’s the other reason for your apology, then?“

Draco exhales in a rush and lets his gaze wander over the bookshelves, unable to stand the intense eye-contact and think clearly at the same time. In the back of his mind, he wonders what his father would think about him if he saw this little spectacle, but he decides that he can only answer truthfully, having the weird impression that Potter could tell if he tried to lie.

"I'm – I'm curious. You're nothing like I expected and not in a bad way. You're smart and cunning with a controlled mean streak, something I can value, and I'd like to be at least on friendly terms with you, even if you don't want to become friends with me.“

He stops short when Potter starts laughing, a carefree sound that makes his eyes sparkle and his head tip back slightly. Draco bites his own tongue to not lash out, this whole ordeal has already been a massive blow to his pride, he isn't used to needing to speak his mind and being so flustered.

Fortunately, before he can make a snide remark or simply storm off, Potter sobers a little and flashes him a real smile. "Why thank you, Draco, how nice of you to say. Don't worry, I wasn't really angry, I just wondered how long it would take you to own up to having been wrong. And yes, I'm fine with being on friendly terms. Maybe we'll even become friends.“ Towards the end Potters grin becomes a little more teasing again and he winks at him, of all things. Draco rarely felt so out of his depth, he’s relieved and irked and amused at the same time, and he has no idea what to say.

"Merlin, you don't expect a hug or something, do you?“

He chokes on his own spit, coughing and shaking his head while inwardly cursing his ancestors for the pale skin that, without a doubt, shows that his blush has come back in full force. "Potter, you-“ he starts, after getting his breathing back under control, not even knowing what he really wants to say.

"Calm down, I'm only teasing you,“ he interrupts, his smirk softening a little around the edges, "and call me Hadrian if you'd like. What are you reading anyway?“

Draco shakes his head in exasperation, his own amusement slowly disentangling the knot in his stomach. "I'm researching an advanced Boil Cure Potion Snape mentioned last week.“

Hadrian’s eyes light up in interest and he asks: "You maybe want to join us? I have a table in the back with Blaise, Daphne, and Theo and was actually looking for a book on the essay Snape gave us as homework.“

Draco doesn't even try to fight the smile that slips onto his face and after nodding his agreement he thinks that, no matter what his father says, sometimes it appears to pay off to simply speak your mind instead of coming up with a deliberate speech.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore enters the staff room and takes his seat at the head of the table, smiling at the already assembled professors. It’s their first meeting, 2 weeks into the term, and he finds himself more expectant about the opinions of the students than he generally is. Well, one student in particular but it wouldn't do to show too much of an interest.

He wavers in his own opinion about Hadrian Potter, starting with that very name. The boy is nothing like he expected, and not solely based on the unwelcome fact that he was sorted into Slytherin. While polite and charming, he has a certain aloofness and confidence that, in this combination, was not what Albus wanted him to be when he arrived at Hogwarts.

He also wonders about what appeared to be Occlumency shields, but even living with Regulus Black – such a huge inconvenience _that_ is – he doesn't think it possible that an 11-year-old would be capable of them. He hasn't tried again yet, but he hopes that it was only a strange coincidence.

The whole ordeal in his office unnerved him if he is honest with himself. The polite but distant demeanour, the assuredness with which he handled the conversation, the contentment with being sorted into Slytherin, and worst of all, the oh so familiar gesture of twirling his wand between his fingers.

It all reminds him a little bit too much of the early Tom Riddle and that... _disconcerts_ him. He knows he’s being paranoid and seeing ghosts, but right now, he wants nothing more than having the teachers confirm that he’s nothing but an ordinary boy. It’s bad enough that the blood-glamour he put on him as a child either slipped or that the Black features are just that strong. The only consolation is that he felt absolutely no magic levels out of the ordinary, so those blocks are fortunately still there.

The clearing of a throat breaks him out of his musings, and he smiles gratefully at Minerva. "Welcome everyone and thank you all for attending our first meeting. I hope you had a good start of term. I think we should start with feedback on our new students and then work our way up like we usually do, if there aren't any pressing matters we need to discuss first?“

When nobody speaks up, the Heads of Houses report how everyone settled in with the occasional case of homesickness or getting lost in the castle.

"Very well, I'm glad to hear everybody is adapting so well. And no cases of bullying or the like?“ He looks at Severus.

To his surprise and remote irritation, Harry settled in a little too well in Slytherin. He hoped that the house would shun him on principle and therefore prompt him to find friends in the other houses. He doesn't like the thought of the boy associating even more with the children of dark families than he undoubtedly would through Regulus, but his hopes have not been fulfilled yet. It doesn't worry him too much though, sooner or later he'd be cast to the outskirts of the distasteful hierarchy of the house and then it will be only a matter of time before he finds some lighter associates.

He receives a look from Severus that tells him that his potions master knows exactly what he implied but he just smiles in response and when nobody mentions any incidents, he continues. "Wonderful, then let us proceed with the academical scope of the first years. Any students with particular difficulties or talent?“

Nearly everyone in the room perks up visibly. Well, there appears to be some exceptional talent this year and he’s curious which student already caught the attention.

It’s Minerva who speaks first: "Mr. Potter-Black apparently inherited his father’s talent for Transfiguration. He manages every spell on the first try, and if he wasn't so helpful to the other students, I would fear that he'll get bored. Also, Ms. Granger is very studious and shows a lot of determination to learn.“

"Oh really? In Charms it's the same, Mr. Potter-Black accomplishes everything at his first attempt and doesn't show any problems with theory either. It's very impressive! And he is indeed more than willing to help the others, never lording it over them that he already mastered the spell.“ Filius adds and Albus’ stomach sinks.

"It's like that in Herbology too. He possesses an impressive amount of knowledge, has an intuitive feeling for working with plants and is always willing to lend a hand. A very kind and friendly boy!“

"Ye-yes, that, that ap- applies for, for De- De- Defence, too .“

"He appeared to be a little tired in Astronomy but that is nothing noteworthy for a first year. He certainly knows his star charts, no doubt a result of living with Lord Black. Obviously, his living arrangement does him good, I'm glad he found someone who feels like family to him,“ Aurora says, and by now Albus struggles to keep his facial expression open and content. How is this possible?

"Severus, how is the boy performing in potions, then?“ he asks, hoping that at least in one class the child doesn't strive and overturn every expectation he so carefully planned for.

"I have to admit that he is capable as far as I can tell yet. He is concentrated, doesn't fool around and managed to open a textbook before coming to class. The times he finishes early, he helps other students, no matter if fellow Slytherins or some of the Gryffindors. I have nothing to complain about.“

For Severus that is practically high praise and Albus wonders when the dour man overcame his intense dislike for the child. This isn't good, not at all. Every single teacher in the room is charmed and taken with the boy, not only because of his unexplainable talent but because of his helpfulness and friendly, open attitude.

They are now sharing stories about the feats he managed easily, including more complicated tasks they gave him and how he was able to explain the theory as well. His paranoia about parallels to another boy who acted the same way come back with force, and he has to take a few controlled breaths to get through it.

This doesn't have to mean anything. It is a good thing that he is helpful to others and well-liked, it doesn't mean that he is like Tom Riddle. It makes it even more likely to get him into trouble with his housemates.

The currently bigger problem is the whole disaster concerning the trial of Sirius Black anyway. He got a missive from Gringotts and the fact that the Potters will was unsealed could become a real obstacle for him. If the boy found out that Albus knew about his godfather’s innocence it could cause mistrust that he wants to avoid at all costs.

He wrote to Regulus Black earlier today, deciding that his best bet is getting the man under his influence. Maybe, by arguing for the safety of the boy, he can even persuade him to send him back to his Muggle family.

And he needs to be convincing that he simply didn't remember the change of secret keeper. It had been the height of the war, it’s not so unbelievable after all.

He will support them in the trial, offering assistance for Sirius afterwards and showing that Harry’s safety is of the utmost importance to him.

With Sirius free, there won't be a chance for him to reclaim guardianship, but as long as he can establish himself as a constant support and mentor in the child’s life and gain their trust back, it’s not the biggest problem. And Sirius as a guardian would be better than Regulus, the older Black always abhorred his family and everything that came with it. He would be easier to influence, especially on the matter of Harry living with his Muggle family.

At least he can be sure about _that_. If Sirius recovers from Azkaban, he will want to take the boy, and Harry surely wants to live with the person his parents chose for him.

Until then, there is still the Philosophers Stone and the quest to bring him closer to lighter families. It’s such a shame that the Goblins took the Invisibility Cloak from him, it would have made a good Christmas present.

He sighs, just realising that the meeting is coming to a close. In the end, all the trouble would be worth it and if he learned one thing in his old age, it is patience. In the end, it would all pay off.

* * *

Voldemort absently taps his fingers against the top of the Head Table. Well, not really _his_ fingers, but, semantics.

He took over Quirrell’s consciousness and once again observes the Slytherin table. A little over a week ago, there has been a shift in the seating arrangement of the younger years, something nobody paid much attention to except him and Snape. Maybe Dumbledore as well, but he is uncertain how far the old fool’s familiarity with the intricate workings of the house hierarchy reach.

Normally, the three younger years divide themselves by their level, as it is rare that someone else than a 3rd year is on top of them. The ranking primarily takes place within each year and they sit accordingly, the youngest ones closest to the Head Table, the top of the 3rd years closest to the middle. Then, in the centre of the table, assembles the top of the house with their circle, while the rest of the upper years sort themselves out at the other side towards the doors.

Since last weekend, the one sitting next to the circle of the current 6th year leader, Landon Avery, is none other than Hadrian Potter with his flock of first years. Not all of them, only Theodore Nott to his left, Blaise Zabini to his right and Daphne Greengrass and Draco Malfoy across from them, the last one the most recent addition. He is sure that it’s no coincidence that they belong to the most powerful families of their year. Then the 3rd years follow, then the 2nd years, and finally the rest of the 1st years.

Maybe the most amazing feat is that none of the older students appear to be reluctant to accept the position the boy has taken. They look at him with respect, some even a little awe. It’s unnerving and makes him more than curious, not even he managed to achieve that so early on.

He toyed with the idea of attempting Legilimency at some of the younger students to find out what happened to grant Hadrian Potter of all people this position, but Quirrell has no talent at that particular art, which would make it clumsy at best, even if it theoretically was him. Besides, most Pureblood children receive at least basic training in Occlumency before starting Hogwarts, and he doesn't want any suspicions to land on him. The whole plan of being here is risky enough already.

The boy is an enigma to him and nothing like he expected. In the beginning, he thought the sorting was a joke or at least a mistake, but after the last few weeks, he has to admit that it is probably the only fitting house. He is apt and talented, carries himself with an ingrained grace normally reserved for Purebloods or those with a lot of training, and has obviously impeccable control over his facial expressions. While every other teacher is charmed by his helpfulness, Voldemort has seen the short flickers of annoyance and resignation that cross his eyes from time to time, the swift appearance of a friendly and open expression when interacting with other students in class. And he has only seen it because he looked for it.

He’s certain that the motivation behind his kindness is not a pure heart and love for his peers, but the desire to not die of boredom and to paint the image of someone likeable. Just like he had done all those years ago and isn't that an alarming thought. Also, on the same note, his wand. It’s at least made of the same wood as his own, and while he can't say much about the core, yew is not a common wood and has some very defining properties.

Adding to all this that the Slytherins would never accept his rise in their ranks so easily if he was what Dumbledore wants him to be, no matter if he lives with a Black, it all paints an intriguing picture.

He wishes he could have a conversation with him, not as Quirrell but himself, to find out a little more about Hadrian Potter-Black, but it won't do to throw caution to the wind.

He is still the child of the prophecy, the child whose parents he killed even if he wouldn't know that it is _him_ ; a child he knows nothing certain about – and if he allows himself to even think about it he instantly gets mad with rage for the state he finds himself in, thanks to precisely this child.

Possessing Quirrell is not a positive experience in any way and the main reason he is at Hogwarts has nothing to do with the boy who, unfortunately, occupies his thoughts a lot, so he resigns himself to observation and biding his time.

The only thing he decided yet is to not outright kill him at the first chance, everything else is a matter he can worry about later. When he finally has his own body back.

After all, the boy might make a good addition to his ranks when he is older, provided he'd be willing to take an unbreakable vow regarding the prophecy of course.

He would really, _really_ like to see Dumbledore’s face if that ever happened.

* * *

Severus Snape is tired. The start of term always has that particular side-effect, but this year it feels worse, somehow. The discovery of Pettigrew rattled him and what Regulus told him in the aftermath even more so. He doesn't care all that much for Sirius Black, quite the opposite really, but he wouldn’t wish 10 years of Azkaban on anybody innocent.

No, what really shocks him is that Dumbledore _knew_ , sealed the Potters will on purpose, placed the child with an abusive family – he can't say how much Dumbledore knew about _that_ , but Severus met Petunia as a child and even then she had been jealous and horrid, and that, at least, Dumbledore was aware of, no matter how much he liked to downplay it.

And now he’s planning something. Not that he would ever share with Severus, but it’s rather obvious. Not to mention the 'coincidence' of Hogwarts hosting the Philosophers Stone the same year Hadrian Potter arrives. It’s a little too convenient for his tastes.

Especially taking into consideration everything he learned. He hates Sirius Black with a passion, and rightly so, considering the mutt tried to get him killed. But as already mentioned, even he wouldn't wish Azkaban on anyone, and Dumbledore let it happen while simultaneously saving Severus from the same fate, who would have probably deserved it. All to fit his own needs.

Of course, he was already aware that the old man is manipulative and secretive to a nearly unparalleled extent, could give a lot of Slytherins a run for their money really, but this is a whole new level of despicable. It makes him wonder what else has been orchestrated, how far the Headmaster would be willing to go to reach his own goals. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, considering the position he’s in, considering that he willingly gave himself into his clutches by pleading for Lily’s safety, considering that, when the Dark Lord returns, he'll have to play the role of a spy yet again.

Most of the time, he pushes those thoughts away as much as possible, trying to not already get a headache over future events, but these recent discoveries add a new perspective.

He’s not a light wizard by any means, didn’t join Dumbledore’s side of the war out of conviction but out of guilt, something that came up again in his latest talk with Regulus. They’ve both been disappointed with the workings of the Dark Lord, honestly, how could they not? There wasn't much 'working' aside from torture and increasingly mindless murder, and all the goals and changes that once lured them in turned out to be empty promises, or at least like they’ve been lost to the insanity of a mad man.

Severus knows that Regulus discovered _something_ , but he never talks about it and he never pushes – a skill you learn quickly within the Death Eater ranks.

But Regulus said something the last time they spoke and, in combination with the latest revelations about the extent of Dumbledore’s manipulations, it makes his chest clench and heart race, every time he thinks about it.

Regulus asked him if he doesn't find it strange that a prophecy was conveniently spoken on a job interview for the Divination post, in a room at the Hogs Head of all establishments, and that no precautions were taken when his eavesdropping was discovered.

A simple Secrecy Spell would have prevented him from repeating what he heard.

Severus didn't want to listen to him, wanted desperately to tell his friend that he was mad, paranoid and completely out of his mind, but he couldn't.

He couldn't deny the memories flitting through his head, of Dumbledore not being surprised at all when Severus met with him all those years ago, begging him to keep Lily safe. Of Dumbledore telling him that Hadrian lived a good and pampered life while he put him with Petunia, of his recent insistence that the child has to go back, has to get resorted, of him letting someone innocent rot in Azkaban.

It’s all a little bit too much to be simple carelessness and while he never thought of the Headmaster as a particularly good man, he never doubted his intentions as much as he does now.

The only consolation is that the vow he was forced to take requires him to keep Hadrian safe, not to be loyal to the light. If it becomes clear one day that it means to keep him safe from Dumbledore, at least he won’t die in the process.

And isn't that a surprise. He never expected to become, dare he say it, fond of the child of James Potter. It helps that Hadrian is nothing like his predecessor, like neither of his parents really, and has the same penchant for knowledge and silence as Severus. Also, he has to give it to him, his ability to act and to fool others into thinking about him what he wants them to, is impressive for his age, - like wrapping most of the school around his finger within less than a month.

Including the Slytherins. He saw the memory of his little stunt in the common room, having asked one of the older students and watching it with Regulus. If he would acknowledge it out loud, he'd have to compliment Hadrian for handling the situation without even hurting anyone more than strictly necessary. As it would probably only serve to make them both uncomfortable, he just gave him a barely noticeable smirk when he saw him the next time.

He shakes his head, eyes falling back on the letter he received from Gringotts that prompted his line of thought. An invitation to the reading of the Potters' last will. It arrived shortly after the term began and he’s certain that the timing was intentional.

Regulus refused to tell him why he of all people was summoned, so while he feels more than apprehensive about the whole thing, he has to go if he wants to know what this is about.

He sighs and summons his cloak, checks again that his office is locked and floos straight to the bank.

After greeting the Goblin and stating his business, he’s brought into a spacious office with a big desk opposite the door, tall, dark bookshelves gracing the wall behind it and weapons decorating the others. In front of the desk stand only two chairs and after a few seconds, he recognises Remus Lupin sitting in one of them. With only a curt nod to the man and the Goblin behind the desk, he takes the other chair, wondering if they’re the only ones that decided to attend, or if they’re just the only ones _left_. Both possibilities are equally depressing.

"Good day, Mister Lupin, Professor Snape, you both received an invitation for the reading of the Potters will, as it was unsealed recently by Heir Potter-Black and Lord Black.“

Lupin makes a surprised choking noise and Severus wonders if it’s due to the reading taking place only now or because of Hadrian’s guardian, but he continues to ignore him, unwilling to get involved with his current crisis.

The Goblin obviously shares his sentiment because he continues: "As the will has already been read officially, I will only cite the relevant passages. Heir Potter-Black has nothing to dispute so everything stated will be yours. If you refuse any of it, you'll have to take care of it yourself, apart from the clause about guardianship, but I'll come to that later.“

Did the Potters try to appoint Lupin as Hadrian’s guardian? He wouldn't put it past James Potter to try, he wouldn't even condemn it because of Lupins lycanthropy, but everybody knows that a werewolf would never be allowed, and it’s kind of cruel to suggest it, knowing it’s impossible.

"The relevant parts concerning one Remus John Lupin go as follows: _We leave the Vault 3067 to Remus John Lupin, containing 10 000 Galleons, as well as the residence of Marauders Hut in Wiltshire, to be shared with Sirius Orion Black. We leave the Vault 3068 to Sirius Orion Black, containing the legacy of the Marauders, to be shared with Remus John Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and our only son Hadrian James Potter if he wishes.“_

Lupin blanches beside him and he realises that the werewolf doesn't even know about Black's supposed innocence. It’s unlikely that he’ll find out before the trial, seeing that that part of the will doesn't affect him personally, at least as far as the law is concerned.

Maybe Lupin suspects something, with Pettigrew’s recent reappearance, Hadrian’s official demand of a trial and learning about the will being unsealed only now. He has a short second in which he ponders telling him but discards the idea immediately. There are less than 2 weeks left until the trial and he really doesn't want to be the one to offer any form of emotional support after shattering his world view. If it’s difficult for _him_ to accept that Dumbledore is that devious, for Lupin it will probably be devastating.

The voice of the Goblin breaks him out of his sudden burst of consideration and he gratefully leaves it behind. "The parts concerning one Severus Tobias Snape go as follows: _I, as Lady Potter, leave my academical notes to Severus Snape, to be shared with our only son Hadrian James Potter if he wishes._ _If we do not survive and we leave Hadrian James surviving us, we appoint as guardian of the person and property of our minor child his blood-adopted godfather Sirius Orion Black. If he does not qualify or for any reason ceases to serve as guardian, we appoint as successor guardians in the following order: Alice and Frank Longbottom, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Tobias Snape, Regulus Arcturus Black._ _To the last two: we know this will be a surprise to you, but we trust that if all should go wrong, we can trust you to raise our child away from the war and to the best of your abilities._ _She or he shall have custody of our son and shall serve without bond._ _Under no circumstances is Hadrian James Potter to be raised by Vernon and Petunia Dursley (neé Evans).“_

He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, feels his heart attempting to jump right out of his chest and his hands grab the chair so tightly that his knuckles turn white and he feels his nails breaking. He clenches his jaw and forces his breathing back to normal, slamming his Occlumency shields up with all his might. He will not fly into either a fit of rage or a mental breakdown in a bloody office at Gringotts.

Fortunately, Lupin is talking to the Goblin at the moment so that he can try to get his scrambling thoughts into something that at least vaguely resembles order.

He was supposed to be Hadrian’s guardian. He was supposed to take care of him, take care of Lily’s child, which means she must have forgiven him to some degree, must have trusted him enough, still, to put him on that list, no matter how many others came before him.

He won’t take any action regarding that now, Hadrian is happy with Regulus and, if he’s honest, the latter is far better at taking care of him than he could be, but that really isn't the point. The point is that Dumbledore took that away from him, kept it a secret and fed him lies about the child he was supposed to look after, placed that child in a home that he should never have gone to. Kept him in the dark and would have probably never told him about it, guilt-tripped him relentlessly, leaving him in the belief that Lily died without them ever sorting out their friendship. It feels like failing Lily all over again, even if it’s really not his fault this time.

He belatedly notices that the other two occupants of the room are looking at him and he clears his throat, uncomfortable with his emotions running so high in company. "Excuse me, I was lost in thought. Could you repeat your question?“

Lupin shoots him an understanding smile that he ignores, wanting nothing more than to get out of here and lock himself into his quarters with a bottle of Ogden’s finest.

"I was wondering if you knew who Hadrian has been living with before Regulus? Draknog informed me that Dumbledore was the one who sealed the will, and considering you and Regulus were the only possibilities left and it has been neither of you two...“ Lupin trails off and Severus can see the confusion in his eyes, the doubt that starts to creep its way into his thoughts and he has to suppress a smirk.

Looks like Dumbledore is gathering enemies quickly. As little as he likes the man next to him, he’s aware of how protective werewolves are about those their wolf considers as his pack. It’s this little fact that causes him to answer: "As far as I know, Dumbledore did the exact thing he was supposed not to and sent Hadrian to Petunia and Vernon Dursley, which was, let us say, an unfortunate arrangement. If you want to know how he came to live with Regulus you should write him or Hadrian, I'm sure they'd be willing to answer.“

Lupin’s eyes flash amber for a few seconds and he can see him struggle to keep his calm.

"Draknog, I'd like to acquire the journals Lady Potter talked about if this is all?“

"Certainly, Professor Snape. Am I to assume that you don't want to challenge guardianship for Heir Potter-Black?“

"That is correct.“ He doesn't see the need to explain his reasoning and gratefully follows the Goblin Draknog called.

After receiving the journals, he takes a moment to gather himself before flooing back to his office, where he does exactly what he planned: locking himself up and getting as drunk as he possibly can before falling into bed, completely exhausted with everything he learned in the last few weeks.

His last thoughts are that he'll do everything in his power to keep Hadrian safe, to at least honour Lily’s last wish as much as he is able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing the different POVs and I think I will do something like this occassionally if you liked it. I especially loved writing Draco but I have a soft spot for him in general. He's a tosser, but still.  
> Also, I have one thing that is important to me:  
> While I absolutely loathe the canon-version of Snape, for many reasons I don't want to get into now, even there he's an ambiguous character. I like the possibility of him having a bit more character development and to explore different sides of him.  
> I'm working with the assumption here that having a good, true friend in Regulus might have managed to make him a little less bitter and hateful. (He's still a sarcastic shithead of course just.. yeah.)  
> This is breaking it down a lot and there'll be conflicts involving him, but I wanted to put it out here that I'm not trying to make him out to be a better guy than he was in canon.  
> Also, I think the Marauders were problematic towards him aswell, it's going both ways.  
> Teenagers can be shit, some grow out of it, some don't, but sometimes little changes can make up for a lot, is all I'm trying to say. Excuse my ramblings. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the Kudos, Comments, Bookmarks & Co. <33

_Dear Har,_

_it's good to hear that you're settling in well and made some friends. I guess Dumbledore is not happy about your choices, especially Theo and Draco, but don't let that get to you (I demand to see the memory of Draco’s apology, by the way, it sounded very entertaining)._

_I finally met with the Headmaster because I needed to arrange your attendance at Sirius’ trial next week. It was as amusing as it was annoying._  
_He used the opportunity to question me at length about how you came to live with me, why I didn't inform him when I took over your guardianship and, of course, not so subtly about my 'loyalties'._  
 _I told him what we agreed on: that I realised you were my heir and contacted you, finding out in the process that you were severely neglected and so decided to invite you to live with me. That I didn't inform him because I thought he was your guardian by default and didn't expect him to be invested, considering that he never checked on you; and that he would contact me when he found out and had any questions. Seeing that he never did, I expected him to be fine with it._  
 _I'm sure he wondered how I was able to reach you, but as he couldn't outright admit that he had put a post-block on you, he was unable to ask. He believed me anyway – I suppose he blamed it on our blood relation._

_I let him know that my 'loyalties' lie with and only with you and that if Voldemort should return, I would follow whatever you want to do. It didn't seem to appease him, especially that I would flee with you if you wanted to is probably putting him on edge. As I said, amusing.  
He then continued with voicing his 'concerns' about your safety, telling me you would be safest with your relatives and so on. I let him know that our wards are the best in Britain, but that I'd be willing to put our home under the Fidelius with you as the secret keeper. That got him to back off quickly, I suspect he fears not knowing where you are. _

_Knowing what we do, his attempts at manipulation were rather flimsy, but the best of it came at the end of our meeting: he offered me the position as Defence professor for the next school year. To keep an eye on me I'm sure, and bind us closer to him._  
_I informed him that I am very content with my current work and wouldn't want to risk the rumoured curse on the position, considering that it would be rather irresponsible as your guardian. I mean, honestly?!_  
 _To say he wasn't happy with the results of our conversation would be an understatement and I'm sure this wasn't the last of it, but for now, we're fine._

_Unfortunately, you will have to come to the Ministry with him on Monday._  
_He is not acting as Chief Warlock due to personal involvement but will attend, nonetheless._  
 _Ah yes, he expressed his 'sincerest apologies for this grave misunderstanding, as it was the height of the war, the change had simply slipped his mind', and offered his 'utmost support' during and after the trial._  
 _I'm still proud of myself for not losing my temper, honestly, does he expect us to believe that shit? (Excuse my swearing, I know you won't mind and it's the only fitting word I can think of.)_  
 _He also wanted to know if I told you about the contents of the will and tried to convince me to keep it from you. He wasn't happy that you already knew, but what can you do, you had to be present for the authorization, and who am I to keep your parents will from you?_  
 _So you can most likely expect his 'sincerest apology' directed at you as well. I'm sorry._

_Anyway, enough of the old Headmaster.  
The Goblins say Sirius’ case is as good as won with Pettigrew present and the opened will, and I'm looking forward to seeing you. The house is strangely empty without you._

_Love,  
Regulus_

* * *

_Dear Hadrian,_

_my name is Remus Lupin. I don't know if you've ever heard of me. I was a friend of your parents. I apologize for not contacting you sooner.  
I tried a few times some years ago, but the owls always came back with the letters and eventually I stopped trying, assuming that the wards you were living under kept you from being found._

_Until I received the missive from Gringotts about your parents will being unsealed, I was unaware of your current guardian, so I never tried again._  
_I was sorry to hear that your life with your original family has not been good to you, and I hope that you find yourself in a better place now._  
 _Of course, I would have loved to take you in, unfortunately, I suffer under a condition that doesn't allow me to care for a child._  
 _Dumbledore always assured me you were fine, but I'm learning that, unfortunately, not everything the Headmaster says is true._

_On that note, I also just learned that you demanded a trial for Sirius, and the discovery of Peter Pettigrew. I find myself curious about your decision, but I understand if you don't like to share as we don't know each other.  
I will attend the trial next week as a visitor and I would be happy to meet you, together with Regulus of course – if only for a short greeting. _

_Best regards,  
Remus Lupin_

 

Putting both letters away, Hadrian offers some of his breakfast to Thanatos, who nuzzles his face affectionately. He doesn't know what to think about the letter from Lupin and decides to put it out of his mind until he’s alone and able to think about his options.

"Anything interesting?“ Blaise asks, noticing the looks he’s throwing at Dumbledore.

"The Headmaster offered Regulus the Defence position for next year. I mean can he get any more obvious?!“ Theo barely covers a snort, Draco sneers, and he throws them both a fond grin.

It’s nearing the end of September and they all became closer over the last few weeks. After Draco’s apology he realised that, when the blonde isn't so focused on the impression he makes, he’s funny and intelligent company. He’s not convinced yet about his motivations, but the read he gets on his emotions and surface thoughts proposes that he has been honest, and for now that’s enough for him.

The others have known each other before Hogwarts of course, so it didn't take much to integrate this latest addition. They’re sometimes joined by Pansy Parkinson, but he finds her to be rather annoying and suspects that she doesn't like him much, either. Of course, she still tries to cosy up to him anyway, but it’s not doing her much good.

Thankfully, the general attention on him died down with the passing weeks. There were a few attempts from 3rd year Slytherins to catch him unaware and undermine his position, but they weren’t very successful as he never lets his guard down when he’s outside of his dorm.

The only other person still bent on annoying him is Ron Weasley. While the boy didn’t try to hex him yet, he constantly tries to insult him, rile him up and spread rumours about him 'being dark'. Nothing of that really works out in Weasley’s favour, but unfortunately, it doesn't stop him from trying.

Weasley also started telling people that he’s a Parselmouth, and it serves to amuse him to no end that, apart from the Slytherins, nobody really believes it. He doesn't even try to deny it whenever somebody asks, just shrugging a shoulder and smiling, but apparently, most of the students from his year like him too much to suspect that he has such a _terrible_ ability.

Atana started to go hunting while he’s in class, stating that it’s too boring for her to stay hidden underneath his robes the whole time. As the Slytherin common room opens to Parseltongue, she’s able to come and go as she pleases, and when she’s not hunting, she loves to amuse herself with scaring the Slytherins, undoubtedly a relic from the time she did the same to the Dursleys.

It has the side-effect that nobody outside of his house realised yet that he has a snake and his housemates keep it quiet, rule 2 and all that. He honestly doesn't care much either way, but he’s glad that the interest in him reclined enough to give him some room to breathe before the trial will bring it back full force.

He found a room in the dungeon and manages to slip away for a few hours every other day, to work out how to get to the Stone and to continue his training, which helps to keep him sane amongst all the social interactions.

He keeps up his friendly, helpful facade during classes, and while he slowly relaxes more around his friends, he’s never completely himself, like he would be around Regulus or Death, so the hours he spends alone serve to unwind him and keep his focus.

His project of stealing the stone is coming along nicely. He has detailed descriptions of the protections written out in the book he got from Death all those years ago and has a vague plan of how to tackle most of them. The only remaining problem is the Troll, as he would either need pure force or a very good disguise to get past it. Overall, the obstacles are ridiculously easy, seeing what exactly they guard, and if he didn’t already know that it’s a set-up, he would have suspected it by now.

Blaise seems to know that he’s up to something but is keeping quiet, but then again, there generally isn't much that escapes his notice. The two of them quickly found a level of understanding with each other that can’t really compare to the rest.

Theo and Daphne are both rather introverted, quiet characters, having been brought up in Pureblood society their whole lives and thus putting a lot of weight on composure and rules. Draco has been brought up the same way of course, but he’s also terribly spoiled and has a temper on him that, combined with his arrogance, often gets the better of him.

Blaise and Hadrian are both calmer and more detached, not because they’re introverted but because they like to observe and manipulate their surroundings and watch the chaos unfold from the sidelines, something that Theo and Daphne often roll their eyes at. Of course, Blaise knows the ins and outs of Purebloods as well as Hadrian does, but they both see it more as a necessity to play the game than having it ingrained in their very being.

They’re also closest in their political opinions, a topic that didn’t come up a lot within the group yet, as Hadrian prefers to deal with that particular problem subtly and gradually, here and there throwing in a comment that his mother was Muggleborn and _he’s_ rather powerful, when Draco’s mouth once again works before he thinks.

Long story short, they have a lot in common and often communicate with a simple glance at each other. There are still differences of course, he makes himself more approachable and doesn't disappear into the shadows as much, not that he'd be able to, and Blaise has a penchant and talent for riling up the people around him with teasing and prodding that Hadrian mostly reserves for people he isn't close to, the occasional sarcastic remark and good-natured banter notwithstanding.

He still likes the other three a lot, it just takes more time and effort to strengthen a bond he developed intuitively with Blaise.

"Did Dumbledore say something to Uncle Regulus about his own involvement in Sirius’ imprisonment?“ Draco asks, breaking him out of the thoughts Regulus letter has thrown him into.

"Yeah, he _forgot_ ,“ he scoffs in response, "Honestly, it's like he didn't even _try_ to come up with a credible excuse.“

"Let's hope the court shares your opinion on that matter. Half of the wizarding world worships the ground he walks on, it wouldn't surprise me if he doesn't face any consequences whatsoever.“ Theo grumbles, picking rather forcefully at his eggs.

"Be that as it may, he still condemned a man from a Noble and Most Ancient House to Azkaban and ignored the last will of another, and it all involves the 'boy-who-lived'. No matter how much you hate that title, it gives you a rather large amount of influence, not to mention your three heir titles.“ Draco observes, tilting his head a little while thinking it through.

Hadrian smirks, "Four.“

"What?“

"I'm the heir of four houses. Well, only three Noble and Most Ancient Houses, and one Established House. I'm the heir of Gryffindor. Ironic, isn't it?“ he grins smugly, enjoying Draco’s bewildered expression and Blaise’s amusement, while Theo and Daphne mostly look exasperated.

After getting over his initial shock, Draco grins gleefully and says: "Oh Merlin, can you imagine Weasleys face when he finds out? Why didn't you tell anyone yet?!“

"Calm down, Draco. I didn't tell anyone because it's always good to have something up your sleeve. I hope it doesn't come up at the trial either and I only told you now because you'd never stop whining if you found out later that I kept it from you.“

The other boy looks like he’s unsure whether to be insulted about the whining-part or proud that he was told now, which is exactly what Hadrian aimed for.

"I don't think it will come up. While you're the one who demanded the trial, only your status as Heir Potter and Heir Black is relevant in this case, and as you're neither petitioner nor witness, they won't get too much into you. If there is a trial over your guardianship later on it could come up though.“ Daphne informs him and smiles gratefully.

"Thanks, Daphne. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.“

* * *

The remaining days until the trial pass quickly and Monday morning finds Hadrian dressed in his black formal robes, with the crest of the Houses of Potter and Black stitched onto the front, on his way to Dumbledore’s office.

He had a long discussion with Atana that morning, as she outright refused to stay in the castle and after she promised that she would under absolutely no circumstances unshrink herself he relented, unable to deny that he felt better with her weight around his arm.

Arriving in front of the Gargoyle he takes a deep breath and gives the password. Ironically, meeting with Dumbledore is the part of the day he’s most wary about. He’s certain that the trial will go over well and looks forward to seeing Regulus but being alone with the Headmaster puts him on edge.

Riding up the spiral staircase he pulls up memories of his classes, having decided to throw the old man a bit should he attempt Legilimency on him once again.

The door to the office opens before he can knock, and he’s greeted by Dumbledore’s grandfatherly smile and twinkling blue eyes.

Plastering a smile onto his own face he steps over the threshold. "Good Morning, Headmaster. Thank you for taking me.“

"You're welcome, my boy. Before we leave, I'd like to talk to you for a minute if that's alright?“

The fact that he expected this doesn't stop the annoyance bubbling up inside him, but he simply nods. "Of course, Sir. What can I do for you?“

Dumbledore gestures to the chair in front of his desk and sighing inwardly, he takes a seat.

"Lemon Drop?“

He silently shakes his head and has to suppress a grin at the memory of Snape congratulating him that he avoided that particular offer the last time. Maybe he should make that a constant goal when dealing with the Headmaster?

"I simply wished to apologize for my grave mistake regarding Sirius’ imprisonment. You see, it was a very hard and stressful time back then, and while I was the caster of the Fidelius Charm, I forgot that your parents decided to change the secret keeper later on. I know this must look like an incomprehensible mistake to you, but I hope you can forgive the forgetfulness of an old man. I don't wish this to be a cause for mistrust between me and your family.“

Gritting his teeth he ponders if it would be worth it to point out that it wasn’t his only 'grave mistake', that he could have at least demanded a trial, or, maybe _not_ seal his parents will, but ultimately, there’s nothing he could gain from antagonizing him, so he only smiles. "I understand, Headmaster. I just hope that we'll be able to find out the truth today.“

Dumbledore beams at him and he feels the subtle prodding at his mind, no doubt to check if he’s telling the truth. "Wonderful, I'm glad that we could clear the air, so to say. Should we get going then? If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Black is awaiting us at the Ministry.“

Regulus indeed stands at the fireplaces and Hadrian quickly says his goodbyes to the Headmaster and envelopes him in a tight hug. "Circe, 10 minutes with that meddling idiot and I'm itching to hex someone,“ he whispers before pulling back. Regulus smiles sympathetically and the two of them make their way through the Atrium.

"It's exceedingly crowded today, the public interest in the trial is immense. The thought that an innocent had to spent 10 years in Azkaban has everyone going mad. While it's annoying now, overall it works in our favour. They can't try to cover up or forge anything. It makes it even more likely that Dumbledore will face at least some consequences, Fudge is going to want to put the blame on anyone but himself,“ Regulus murmurs out of the corner of his mouth while they’re waiting for the lift.

He only smiles and nods in response, acutely aware of how many people are watching them curiously.

It takes them another 15 minutes to reach the courtroom and they quickly find a corner in the corridor to wait until the doors open, Regulus occasionally being greeted by people they pass. Fortunately, they look unapproachable enough that nobody really bothers them, until a tall man in rather worn-out robes makes his way over to them.

"Ah, I think that's Lupin,“ Regulus whispers before he can reach them, laying his hand on Hadrian’s shoulder.

He inconspicuously examines the man, who looks tired and tense and like he doesn't really belong here. He didn’t reach a conclusion on how to deal with the former friend of his parents yet. Death informed him that his lycanthropy has been the reason for his inability to take him in and he has no reason to dislike him in any way. He’s just mistrustful about the fact that Lupin was in the Order and thus loyal to Dumbledore, apparently never questioning Sirius’ guilt.

Then again, he did say in his letter that he’ starting to realise that not everything Dumbledore says is true, and every person that starts scrutinising the Headmaster a bit more closely could be a potential ally. In the end, he decided to simply go with it and see where it would lead, which is why he now gives the man, who looks so much older than he should, a friendly smile.

"Hello, Lord Black, Hadrian,“ Lupin greets and shakes hands with both of them.

"Please, call me Regulus. While we never really knew each other, it would be weird for me to be addressed so formally by you.“ Apparently, Regulus had a similar idea.

"Then call me Remus please, both of you.“

Lupin has a friendly smile and appears generally soft-spoken, but his eyes betray the pain and turmoil this whole ordeal must cause him.

"Nice to meet you, Remus. I hope you’re well?“ Hadrian asks, feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation and not really knowing what to say. He answered the letter, of course, stating that he would be fine with meeting him at the trial, but that doesn't mean that he knows how to approach the subject of Sirius.

"Of course. If it's not too much, may I ask how it came to your demand for a trial?“

Well, that’s one way he supposes. Hiding his amusement over the blunt question, he nods. "We found out that Dumbledore sealed my parents will directly after their death, which is rather strange if you think about it. So, on my 11th birthday, we decided to reopen it. Apart from the fact that I was never meant to go to the Dursleys, but to live with either Professor Snape or Regulus, it also stated that they swept secret keeper from Sirius to Pettigrew.”

Remus blanches and leans against the wall, but gestures for him to continue.

“When the Goblins continued to inform us that magic never denied Sirius the right of guardianship, what should have happened if he was guilty, trial or not, and that their records said that Pettigrew was still alive, it all appeared rather shady. That was before they even found Pettigrew, what was a rather lucky and timely coincidence. We hoped that with those facts and a statement under Veritaserum we would at least get to the bottom of what happened. And well, now with Pettigrew found we think that it's very likely that Sirius is innocent after all.“

Remus looks like he’s fighting hard to keep his composure, but the opening of the doors saves them talking about it. They enter the visitor stands, Regulus not voting for the Black seats due to personal connection, and choose to sit close to the front with Remus to Regulus’ other side.

Hadrian watches as the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot take their places, with Minister Fudge and two women at the front podium. The first woman is short and pudgy, with short grey hair, a ghastly pink costume, and a rather unflattering face. The other looks a lot more put together, wearing the typical plum robes and her dark hair in a tight bun, emphasizing the stern lines of her face.

"Do you know who is sitting as Chief Warlock today?“ he asks Regulus, just remembering that Dumbledore is thankfully out of question.

"Madame Bones, she's the Head of the DMLE and is known to be fair. It's the one to Fudge’s left.“

Ah, so the no-nonsense woman he just observed. "Who's the other woman talking to him?“

Regulus grimaces a little, barely noticeable but enough for him to catch it. "That’s Madame Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary. She's a rather... unpleasant character.“

Remus barely covers a snort and he raises a questioning eyebrow.

"She's known for her blatant hate for creatures and extreme opinions on blood purism. A lot of the recent restrictions for non-humans came from her, she has way too much influence on Fudge and she'll loathe the fact that Sirius will be represented by a Goblin lawyer.“ Regulus’ eyes are dancing with amusement at the last part and Hadrian shoots him a fleeting smirk before Madame Bones calls for order.

It takes some time until the overcrowded room calms down.

"I hereby open the trial against one Sirius Orion Black on the 30th of September, 1991. Aurors, please bring in the accused.“

Doors opposite the official entrance open and four Aurors walk in with a man between them. He feels Regulus tense beside him, sucking in a sharp breath. It’s understandable, Sirius looks horrible.

He’s nothing more than skin and bones, long black hair hanging in limp strands around his gaunt face. His eyes are sunken in and hollow, his skin a sickly grey, straining over his cheekbones and jaw like it’s the only thing still holding him together. There’s a vague resemblance to Regulus and even himself, but it looks more like a bad rip-off out of a nightmare than the relation it’s supposed to be.

The Aurors push him roughly down into the chair facing towards the court, and metal chains immediately wrap around his wrists and ankles.

"I will now read the charges. Sirius Orion Black, you are accused of being a member of the terrorist organisation known as Death Eaters, thus a follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You are accused of betraying the location of the Potter family to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, resulting in the deaths of James and Lily Potter. Furthermore, you are accused of the murder of Peter Pettigrew and 12 Muggles on the 1st of November 1981. Lawyer Lylk, how does your client plead?“

"Not guilty, Madame Bones,“ the Goblin states, taking a stand next to Sirius who, for the first time, lifts his head.

"The Minister ordered the use of Veritaserum, do you wish to challenge that decision?“

"No, I'll take it.“ Sirius says, his voice rough and croaky as if he hasn’t used it in a long time, which is probably true. He takes the three drops of potion without a struggle, his whole body slacking slightly after a few minutes.

"Very well, we will begin the questioning now. Please state your name and date of birth.“

"Sirius Orion Black, November 3rd, 1959“

"It's working. Sirius Black, have you been a Death Eater during the first wizarding war?“

"No.“

"Have you been otherwise loyal to the Dark Lord known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?“

"No.“

Whispers break out throughout the courtroom and Madame Bones has to call order again before continuing. "Were you the secret keeper of the Fidelius Charm for James and Lily Potter when they went into hiding in 1981?“

"Only at the beginning.“

"Explain please.“

"When the Charm was first cast, I was the secret keeper, but after a few weeks, Albus Dumbledore convinced me to switch with Peter Pettigrew, arguing that I would be a too obvious choice. I would act as a decoy because nobody would suspect Peter.“

The noise level rises again, and it takes even longer to silence the room.

"Did you give up the Potters to You-know-Who?“

"No, I would have never!“

"Then why did you keep saying it was your fault when Aurors captured you on the 1st of November, 1981?“

"Oh, that stupid fool“ Regulus whispers next to him and Hadrian squeezes his arm in silent comfort.

"Because I was the one that convinced James to make the change. I thought Dumbledore’s idea was good. If I hadn't persuaded them and stayed the secret keeper myself, they wouldn't have died.“ Sirius’ voice breaks at the end and Madame Bones allows a few moments before continuing with the interrogation, once again needing to call for order in the increasingly charged room.

"Was that the reason you attacked Pettigrew?“

"I didn't attack him. I wanted to, but he set me up before I could.“

"Please recapitulate the events of the confrontation.“

"I arrived at the Potters shortly after the attack. I wanted to take… Hadrian with me but was intercepted by Hagrid, who said he would take him to Hogwarts. We argued, but I gave in, thinking I could confront Peter and pick him up later. I wanted to… to understand how he could do it, how he could betray them after we had been friends for so long.”

He pauses, drawing a deep breath. Even from Hadrian’s spot, he can see that his hands are shaking, but the potion doesn’t allow him much time to gather himself or express emotions. “I spent the night and the next day searching for him, and finally found him in a part of Muggle London. Before I could even get out a word, he started screaming how I could have betrayed Lily and James, he put on a great show. He then threw a Confringo at the street, causing the explosion during which he transformed into his Animagus form and fled. I was so shocked, it was all too much, Lily and James dead and the bloody rat setting me up, I could only laugh. Then the Aurors arrived at the scene and took me straight to Azkaban.“

This time, many people start shouting, a mix of outrage and disbelief. Madame Bones has to shoot bangs from her wand to get the attention and threaten to evict the public from the courtroom before she’s able to continue.

"What form is Peter Pettigrew’s Animagus?“

Sirius lets out a hollow, raspy laugh before answering, "A rat.“

"Was there anybody else who knew about the change of secret keeper?“

"Albus Dumbledore was the witness. I thought Lily and James also stated it in their will, but I concluded after the first few weeks in Azkaban that they must have forgotten.“

"No, you were correct. Unfortunately, the will was sealed directly after their death and only reopened recently by Lord Black and Heir Potter-Black.“

Hadrian can't see Sirius' face from his place but notices how his whole body stiffens at the mention of Lord Black. It’s the first time that there are open signs of anger on Madame Bones’ face and she throws a clearly annoyed look in Dumbledore’s direction. She isn't the only one.

"But we'll come to that later on,” she says, “Are there any more questions for Sirius Black?“

The ugly woman next to Minister Fudge clears her throat and Madame Bones nods to her. "You said Albus Dumbledore convinced you to swap the secret keeper, and that you then persuaded the Potters. Do you consider yourself partly guilty and thus your stay in Azkaban justified?“

Before Sirius can answer, Lylk intervenes: “Objection! This question is irrelevant to the trial, considering that a personal sentiment of guilt doesn't justify imprisonment.“

"Agreed,“ Madame Bones nods, while Madame Umbridge directs a look full of hatred at Lylk.

"If Dumbledore knew that you weren't the secret keeper, do you think he kept that fact to himself on purpose?“ she asks instead.

"I don't know“ Sirius answers, hesitance and doubt colouring his otherwise monotone voice.

"Please, you must have a suspicion, don't you?“ She sounds sickeningly sweet and condescending, and Hadrian feels a strong surge of dislike.

"Objection! This is irrelevant as well,“ Lylk interrupts again, receiving agreement from Madame Bones once more, who continues to ask: "Any more _relevant_ questions to the accusations of Sirius Black?“

Umbridge looks annoyed but nobody speaks up, so Bones orders an Auror to administer the antidote and to take Sirius to the side of the room. When he walks by, Sirius' gaze falls on Remus, Regulus and him. His eyes widen, and he only keeps walking because the Aurors drag him along.

Regulus doesn't show any outward reaction, but his fingers are digging into Hadrian’s arm, close to being painful.

"Aurors, please bring in witness Pettigrew,“ Madame Bones calls, and another four Aurors lead said man into the seat Sirius just vacated. He doesn't look much different to when Hadrian discovered him, except that he appears to have lost some weight.

"Peter Pettigrew, you are here today as a witness and possible accused of the events of the 31st of October and 1st of November 1981 regarding the betrayal of the Potter family and the explosion in London, resulting in the death of 12 Muggles. The Minister has ordered the use of Veritaserum, do you wish to challenge that decision?“

Pettigrew squirms in his seat, most likely knowing that it will mean his condemnation, but also unable to disagree without raising suspicion. In the end, he gives in and an Auror administers the Potion.

"Please state your name and date of birth.“

"Peter Pettigrew, February 3rd, 1960“

"It's working. Peter Pettigrew, have you been a Death Eater during the first wizarding war?“

"Yes.“

Again, furious whispers break out all over the room and Madame Bones doesn't even call order, just speaking over the noise. "Were you the secret keeper for the Fidelius Charm for the Potters when they went into hiding in 1981?“

"Yes.“

"So, did you betray the Potter family to the Dark Lord known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?“

"Yes.“

By now it’s so loud that Bones shoots bangs again, but there’s a certain look of understanding on her face for the stir.

"Please recapitulate the events of the confrontation between yourself and Sirius Black on the evening of the 1st of November 1981“

Pettigrew squirms again, but the potion forces him to answer. "After I heard that the Dark Lord killed James and Lily but disappeared in the process, I wanted to go into hiding. I knew Sirius would try and search me out, and I was scared what the other Death Eaters would do to me. But Sirius found me in London. I knew that the only other person who knew about me being the secret keeper was Dumbledore and I wanted to buy myself time to disappear, I didn't expect it to turn out so well. I accused him of being the one who betrayed James and Lily, blew up the street, cut off a finger, then transformed into my form as a rat and fled into the sewer.“

Hadrian hears a low growl from Remus and a look in his direction shows him that the man is looking close to being sick, his hands gripping his seat so tightly that his knuckles have long since turned white and his eyes display a mix of rage, sorrow and self-contempt.

"Where did you hide the last 10 years?“

"I stayed in my Animagus form and acted as a pet. I needed access to the news.“

"Which family did you stay with?“

"The Weasleys.“

"Any more questions for Peter Pettigrew?“

Umbridge looks like she wants to speak up again, but a look from Madame Bones, fortunately, keeps her silent. Hadrian lets out a breath of relief when nobody else speaks up either, glad that they don’t ask about the circumstances of Pettigrew’s discovery.

"Very well. Please administer the antidote and take him into custody, he'll receive his verdict after Sirius Black. I ask Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore into the stand, please.“

He raises an intrigued eyebrow at that, not having expected that they would outright question him, even without Veritaserum. He has to give it to the man that he appears remarkably calm and collected when taking his seat, grandfatherly smile perfectly in place.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, I don't need to remind you that you are to speak the truth. Did you serve as the witness for the Fidelius Charm cast for the Potters?“

"Yes, I did“

"Is it true that the secret keeper has been Peter Pettigrew, as a result of your advice?“

"Yes.“

"Why did you never speak up about it, knowing that it was one of the reasons for Sirius Blacks imprisonment?“

"To my great shame, I forgot about it in the trouble of the war. Considering that everybody thought Sirius Black to be the murderer of Peter Pettigrew and those poor Muggles, I, unfortunately, didn't pay it enough mind. I regret it thoroughly now.“

"Why did you prompt the will of the Potters to be sealed?“

"I thought it to be best for the young Mr. Potter to be confronted with all this at a later age. As Sirius Black was supposed to be his guardian and thought to be guilty, I wanted to spare him the weight of that truth.“

"You arranged for Heir Potter-Black to live with a family that was clearly stated to not be his guardians, ignoring that the will stated two other possibilities. Why?“

"As I said, I didn't recall the content of the will very well. In light of the sudden fame Mr. Potter gained, growing up away from our world seemed like the best course of action for such a young boy.“

Madame Bones raises an eyebrow and many others are obviously sceptical about the truth of the testimony as well. "Thank you, that will be all for now. I would like to ask Heir Potter-Black as a witness if he and Lord Black comply.“

Hadrian doesn't let his surprise show, and after assuring Regulus that it’s alright, confidently makes his way down to the stand.

"Thank you, Heir Potter-Black. Can you please state your whole name and date of birth?“

"Hadrian James Potter-Black, 31st of July 1980.“

"Could you give us a recount of your living situation with the mentioned Muggle family?“

He sighs inwardly, not really wanting to get into that particular topic for the whole wizarding world to read in the papers later but knowing that it’s an excellent opportunity to do some damage to Dumbledore’s reputation, so he gives a hesitant nod and pulls up a pained expression. "It was... not ideal. My Aunt and Uncle don't like anything magical, hated it really. In the first few years, I had to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs and do chores the whole day. My Cousin often hit me. It was only when my magic started acting up in response to... - to rougher treatment, that they started to ignore me. They still let me know that they couldn't stand the sight of me and hated to have me in their home, but, well… they mostly left me alone. They never told me that I was a wizard, of course, I only understood why those… _things_ kept happening after Lord Black contacted me because I’m his heir.“

The outrage rushing through the room is nearly as intense as when Sirius' innocence had come to light, and the looks thrown into Dumbledore’s direction are now bordering on hostile.

"It is stated in your parents will that, if Sirius Black was unable to act as guardian, there were other alternatives, the only ones still available would have been Severus Snape or Lord Black. Are you satisfied with your current living arrangement with Lord Black?“

He allows a happy smile to cross his face. "Yes, ever since I moved in with Lord Black, I'm happy. He taught me a lot about my heritage and prepared me for my start at Hogwarts. I'm so glad that he reached out to me 3 years ago, I would have been absolutely overwhelmed with all the attention my status brings with it, not to mention that it feels for the first time like I have a family.“

Even Madame Bones eyes soften at his statement and he smirks inwardly. He didn’t tell a single lie, of course, but he would’ve never told it this pitifully without a reason.

"Thank you, Heir Potter-Black, that will be all. I'm glad that you're content now. The court will now withdraw to come to decisions regarding Sirius Orion Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Albus Dumbledore. We will reassemble in 30 Minutes.“

He meets Regulus and Remus at the exit and the former flashes him an amused smirk. "Artfully done, kiddo. Your ancestors will be proud of you.“ Hadrian laughs while Remus looks a little confused.

"Do you want to join us for a coffee, Remus?“ Hadrian asks, and the man agrees gratefully.

They enter the Cafeteria in the Atrium and get their drinks, finding a small table in a corner.

"I think that went as well as possible. I'm surprised that Madame Bones had such a go at Dumbledore, maybe he will face actual consequences for once,“ Regulus grumbles.

Hadrian snorts, shaking his head. "I believe that only when I see it.“

"Do you believe him? That he forgot?“ Remus asks, and it’s obvious that he doesn't believe it himself but desperately wants to.

Hadrian smiles sympathetically. "Absolutely not. Maybe, if he had only witnessed the casting, but he was also the witness to the will of my parents and sealed it before Sirius was even captured. He wanted me with the Dursleys and that was the perfect way to get Sirius and every other possibility out of the picture.“

Remus' eyes widen and he turns pale again. “He...- He sealed it _before-_? And why, why did he want you with the Dursleys?“

He shrugs, uncertain how much he wants to share and settling on the middle-way. "Of course, I can't say for sure. He has an unhealthy interest in me, has already tried to convince both of us that I have to go back. I think he wanted me a bit clueless so I wouldn't start to question him in any way. Also, I suppose he didn't think Snape or Regulus to be a good choice.“

"But to go this far...“

"Remus, I can understand your reluctance but anyone who knowingly lets a former ally rot in Azkaban is not a good man. He’s probably convinced that he’s doing the right thing, but just because he thinks that, doesn't make it true. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.“ Regulus says softly.

Remus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "You're right, of course. It's just hard to accept after trusting someone for so long.“

They are silent after that, nursing their drinks and observing the room.

When they’re getting up, Regulus inconspicuously slips him a light package, sending him a wink. "You'll want to have that.“

Hadrian raises an eyebrow in question, but Regulus only shakes his head and they walk back to the courtroom, dodging reporters successfully thanks to Regulus’ practised ease. 

The tension in the room is palpable and for the first time, silence descends quickly as soon as the Wizengamot members take their seats.

"Welcome back to the trial against Sirius Orion Black. Please bring forward the accused.“

After the Aurors placed Sirius back into the chair, Madame Bones clears her throat. "After discussing the presented evidence, the assembled Wizengamot has reached its verdict. We declare Sirius Orion Black free of all charges. He will have to place himself into the care of St. Mungo’s to treat any and all maladies caused by his extended imprisonment. The Ministry will cover all costs. Mr. Black will also receive compensation for his lack of trial and unjust imprisonment in the amount of 2000 Galleons per year, hence 20.000 Galleons. The Ministry will sustain 15.000 Galleons, Albus Dumbledore as knowing complicit is hereby condemned to sustain the remaining 5000 Galleons.”

She has to pause due to the noise, and a quick scan of the room tells him that the majority agrees with the verdict, which is a surprise, at least partly.

“Our sincerest apologies, Mr. Black. We know this will never atone for the injustice you had to face,” she adds, and she does look honestly sorry, something he can’t say for Fudge or Umbridge.

“Furthermore, we condemn Peter Pettigrew to receive the Dementors Kiss, for being a member of the terrorist organisation known as the Death Eaters, betraying the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Murder of 12 Muggles, the knowing set-up of an innocent and the intrusion of an unsuspecting family, posing as a pet to underage children.”

There’s clapping and cheering, and even he has to smile a little – it’s not a nice smile, he’s sure, but this is the best verdict they could’ve hoped for.

“Lastly, we strip Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore of his title as Chief-Warlock, condemn him to the mentioned compensation for Sirius Orion Black, as well as compensations to Heir Potter-Black. He is to pay the 5000 Galleons to Mr. Black for unjust imprisonment, as well as 500 Galleons for each year Hadrian Potter-Black had to spend in an abusive home he was never meant to go to, as a result to the sealing of the Potters will. This amounts to 3500 Galleons to Heir Potter Black, 5000 Galleons to Sirius Black, making 8500 Galleons in total as compensation. The court is closed.“

Noise explodes all over the room and he only catches a short glimpse of Dumbledore’s enraged face.

He covers his broad smirk with a hand, leaning a bit against Regulus. "That went even better than expected,“ the older man murmurs to him, relief and some gloating clear in his voice.

They wait until most people vacated the stands and then slowly make their way towards Sirius, who still sits in his chair, looking like he can't believe what just happened.

"Hello, brother,“ Regulus greets with a small smile, and Hadrian is sure he’s the only one who notices the slight strain in his voice.

"Reggie...“ Sirius croaks, and the two of them only stare at each other for long seconds, until Sirius stands up on shaky legs and pulls Regulus into a hug.

After letting his obviously uncomfortable brother go, Sirius' gaze falls on Hadrian and tears pool in the corner of his eyes. "Merlin, you look more like a Black than a Potter, even with your mothers’ eyes,“ he mutters and Hadrian only shrugs and smiles a little. He’s unsure what to say to his godfather and hopes he won’t get hugged as well; the whole situation makes him feel awkward enough already.

Thankfully, Remus chooses that moment to softly clear his throat and say: "Sirius... I'm so sorry.“ He appears close to crying and Hadrian takes a step to the side to give the two of them some space.

Regulus places a hand on his shoulder and sends him a silent look of understanding.

When the two friends are finished with their reunion, Sirius turns back to them, an only slightly forced grin tugging on his lips. "Do I have to thank the two of you for getting me out of that hellhole?“

"That you have, dear brother of mine. You appear to be surprisingly sane for someone who spent 10 years in the presence of Dementors.“

"Well, let's just say Peter wasn't the only one with a trick up his sleeve. I'd rather not talk about it here,“ Sirius grimaces.

His eyes fall on Regulus’ hand on Hadrian’s shoulder and he raises an eyebrow at both of them, the gesture surprisingly familiar to Regulus. "So, you're living with my little brother, huh? I hope he treats you well.“

Hadrian feels indignation bubble up in his chest, but he only smiles pleasantly. "I wasn't lying when I said that I found a family,“ he says softly, ignoring the short flicker of guilt and pain that cross Sirius’ eyes at that. He doesn't mean to rub his godfather's face in it, but he also won't sugar-coat the truth to make him feel better.

A tense silence settles over the group until Regulus sighs. "Har, I think you need to get back to Hogwarts. The Headmaster left in a fit, so I'll be taking you back. Maybe Remus can help you get sorted and accompany you to St. Mungo? I'll visit you tomorrow if you like.“

Sirius nods slowly but before they can leave, he speaks up again: "Hadrian, can I.. - can I write to you?“

He smiles at the gaunt man, "Of course, I'd like that. I hope you get better soon. It was nice to meet you both.“

After saying their goodbyes, Regulus and Hadrian quickly make their way to the Apparation-point, occasionally dodging reporters and other people that want to talk to them.

Regulus apparates them to Hogsmeade, sending his Fox Patronus to Severus to meet them at the gate, and then walks with him. They’re silent for a long time, both lost in their own minds.

"Don't worry too much about Sirius, alright? It's bound to be awkward in the beginning, and I think it's a good idea to start with writing to each other,“ Regulus finally says, and he has the feeling that this doesn't apply only to his relationship with his godfather.

"I'm… I don't know, not so worried that we won't get along as that he'll want me to live with him.“

Regulus smiles softly at him and sighs. "I know Har. I don't doubt that he'll ask you at some point, but you have some time until then. Even when the Healers declare him ready to go, he'll need to get back on his feet. Of course, he still has access to the Black fortune, at least some of it, even if grandfather Arcturus passed the title of Head of Family on to me. Hell, maybe he'll live with us, even if I think that would be a bad idea, I wouldn't deny him. We'll just have to wait and see. For now, you focus on school and to not get mad with all the attention you're bound to receive once again, alright?“

"Not much else I can do, is there?“

Regulus snorts, shaking his head and ruffling Hadrian’s hair. They reach the gate where Snape already waits, and after exchanging a short retelling of the day, Regulus hugs him tightly before disapparating.

"Did you see the Headmaster, Professor?“ he asks Snape, curious where Dumbledore disappeared to.

"Not since breakfast.“

"Hm, I'd stay out of his way as much as you can, Sir. He wasn't in the best of moods after the verdict.“ The corner of Snape’s mouth twitch and they walk the rest of the way in companionable silence.

Entering the castle, he groans inwardly. Time to face his friends and their inevitable bulk of questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the trial, finally! I hope you liked it!
> 
> I have the theory that Veritaserum let's you only answer the asked questions, so no pityful grovelling from Pettigrew.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the reviews, you're all great! <33  
> By the way, I kept forgetting it, but you can also find me on tumblr.  
> It's mostly Harry Potter stuff. Feel free to write me if you want to!  
> [Tumblr](https://queenofthedagger.tumblr.com/)

When Regulus crawls out of bed the next morning, he’s barely able to keep his eyes open and his body aches. He spent the night tossing and turning, thoughts running in circles around Sirius and all their trouble. He’s relieved, of course, that the trial has gone over so well and that Sirius is finally free, but it also means that he now has to face his brother and subsequently everything that happened between them before the war.

He remembers how they’ve been as kids, always together, inseparable, Sirius always looking out for him. How Sirius took the blame for many of Regulus' missteps, how he spent whole nights in his bed to chase away the monsters lurking in the dark corners of Grimmauld Place, how he protected him against the teasing and pranks from their older cousins.

How Regulus, in turn, looked up to him, would have done anything for him; sneaked him food or blankets when their mother once again locked Sirius in the cellar as punishment. Sirius has always been the bolder one, the one with more openly displayed courage and convictions, while Regulus preferred to keep his mouth shut and his head down and defy their parents in more unobtrusive ways. They’ve always been different, but for the first few years, they worked well together.

It all began to go haywire when Sirius started Hogwarts and got sorted into Gryffindor. Regulus wasn't even that surprised, his brother was as far from a Slytherin as one could get and it never bothered him, he loved him just as he was.

Their parents saw that differently, of course. Their demands and punishments became worse while Sirius grew even more defiant and angry, resulting in constant screaming matches and violence whenever he came home for the holidays.

Regulus did what he always did, tending to Sirius in the aftermath, nicking healing potions and food, finding loopholes in his parents’ orders to Kreacher and comforting his brother as best as he could.

One day that wasn’t enough anymore. Sirius began to resent him for not stepping in, for not openly saying something, defying their parents the same way he did. He called Regulus too soft, a coward, too weak. A part of Regulus understood where he was coming from, but another part, the more pronounced one, knew that it wouldn't have changed anything, that it would have been useless. He would have just received the same treatment, would have been locked up as well, and who would have cared for Sirius then? What was the point if they both suffered?

For Sirius, it was about solidarity, for Regulus about practicality, plain and simple.

It all got so much worse when he was sorted into Slytherin. While before his parents have been a little more lenient with him, as much as they ever got in the House of Black, have treated him more like the 'spare', the shadow to their heir, he suddenly advanced to being the _good son_ , to the hope of the family in case they'd be unable to 'correct' Sirius 'faults' – and, of course, his mother never missed an opportunity to let both of them know it.

As for Sirius, he was as good as dead the moment the hat called out Slytherin, he still remembers the look of pure disappointment and loathing in his brothers' eyes across the Great Hall. To Sirius, it was the confirmation that he was just like their parents, that he was the exact thing he despised more than anything. He stopped accepting any help from Regulus whenever they were home, preferring to stubbornly suffer before receiving comfort from what he considered a 'traitor,' never missing an opportunity to let Regulus know that he saw him as nothing more than a pushover, eating up everything their parents said and accusing him of secretly savouring their newfound attention.

Regulus kept trying, of course he did. It wasn't even true; he hated the sudden responsibilities and expectations. Even if it hurt sometimes that their parents disregarded him so easily, he would’ve preferred to stay in the shadows above all that.

It was true that he agreed with many of their views about traditions, about dark magic or the necessity of stricter separation between the wizarding and the Muggle world, but it was based on his own research, not because they told him to. Granted, what he knew was influenced by them as well as his housemates, but he has always been someone to read a lot and preferred to form his own opinions, and contrary to Sirius' conviction, he started to question their beliefs when he arrived at Hogwarts.

He didn't agree with their parents’ treatment of them, with customs like arranged marriages or their opinions on creatures, but it wasn't as if he and Sirius ever rationally discussed these things.

For his brother, the world was split into black and white, and no matter what Regulus tried to say or do, as long as he didn't renounce everything their family or Slytherin stood for, everything dark or traditional, he counted as the enemy to him.

He finally gave up when in his 2nd year, he overheard Sirius call James Potter 'the brother he never had'. He understood a lot of Sirius hatred and pain for their parents, for the way they were brought up, and while he didn’t always agree with his opinions, didn’t always get behind his brothers personality, he did always love him regardless, always accepted their differences without ever thinking of him as anything else than _his brother_ , the one he would always put above everybody else.

But because he didn't do it in the same way Sirius did he wasn't good enough anymore, and after the pain in his chest lessened, when he stopped to feel like crying every time he remembered those words, he began to embrace the anger, the disappointment, the betrayal that he wasn’t good enough, that Sirius couldn't accept him the way he was, like he did for him. He stopped trying to mend their broken relationship, and if Sirius noticed, he never let it show.

The last time they had a remotely normal interaction with each other was the night Sirius ran away from home. At the beginning of the summer holidays after Sirius 5th year, their mother somehow found out about Sirius’ relationship with Lupin. It was the first time she used the Cruciatus on him, and the first time that Regulus screamed at her to stop.

As expected, he simply was the next in line, but at least she probably remembered that she still needed him and let him go without lasting damage, something he doubted would have been the case for Sirius.

Later he took potions to Sirius and found him packing, limping and shaking but with determination burning in his eyes. He didn’t even think of asking him to stay. Apart from it being hopeless, he knew that it would be the only thing Sirius could do to save himself, even if it meant that it would get worse for Regulus, that he would have to take the brunt of their mother’s wrath.

So, he simply handed him all the money he had on himself, together with the potions, and intended to leave the room, when Sirius said: "You could come with me, Reggie, I'm sure it would be fine.“

It was a half-hearted attempt at best, and it hurt more than anything his brother had ever said before, calling him by that nickname for the first time in years, conveying that he would always only be his brother if he was the way Sirius wanted him to be.

Even if he had wanted to leave, if he would’ve been simply scared and unwilling to defy everything their parents expected of him, he wouldn't have gone. He knew that Sirius' friends despised him, and everything they thought him to stand for, as much as his brother did. Most likely even more so, and while he didn't agree with his parents on everything, the same was true for the alternative.

He would’ve had his brother back, but only by giving himself up. As much as Sirius believed him to be soft and weak, a pushover and a coward, he stopped being willing to give up everything for him, like he would’ve done when they had still been children.

His refusal of that offer was like the final confirmation of the image Sirius had of him, and he left without another word.

After that, they mostly ignored each other at Hogwarts, avoiding the other as much as possible in conflicts between their houses.

The only time Sirius addressed him directly once more was shortly before his graduation, screaming and raging at him that he would become a Death Eater and get himself killed, only because his parents expected him to, going on another tangent about his weakness.

Regulus just walked away after a few minutes, knowing that no matter what he said, his brother wouldn't have listened anyway.

Of course, he had been right about the Death Eater-part, probably would’ve been right about him getting himself killed, if not for Voldemort’s downfall, but Regulus made the decision himself. His parents would’ve most likely pressured him even if he _didn't_ want to, Sirius wasn't so far off about that either, but even if it might have been easy to blame them, it simply wasn't the case.

Now, years later, he often thought that maybe it was easier for Sirius to believe that Regulus has been forced into being something his brother couldn't tolerate, instead of actively having chosen it himself; that thinking of him as a coward was less difficult to accept than having to adjust his worldview of simple black and white, good and evil.

Regulus can't know what Azkaban did to him but considering that for himself the years didn’t help in sorting out the conflicting feelings he has about his brother, he at least knows that it still won't be easy. 

Knowing that letting his thoughts keep running in circles won't help either, Regulus sighs and gets up from the kitchen table, his breakfast mostly untouched.

"Is Master going to the Blood-traitor son?“ Kreacher asks and he rolls his eyes.

"Don't call him that, Kreacher. But yes, I'm going for a smoke and then apparate to St. Mungo’s. I'm visiting Narcissa afterwards, I have put that off for so long that she practically ordered me to attend tea with her. I'll be back for dinner.“

The house-elf only grumbles incoherently, and Regulus hides an amused smile before sighing again and walking out of the backdoor.

He successfully put Narcissa off until now, arguing that the trial and his work didn't leave him enough time to meet her and explain how Hadrian came to live with him and, more importantly, why he didn’t tell her. Obviously, her patience finally ran out and so he has to face two Blacks on the same day. At least he had the forethought of taking the week off.

After vanishing the rest of his cigarette, he apparates into the entrance hall of St. Mungo’s, glad to see that there’s no press in attendance, and makes his way over to the reception desk. "Good Morning, I would like to visit Sirius Black, please,“ he greets the young Medi-witch and sees her eyes widen slightly in recognition.

"Lord Black! Of course, he's in the ward for recovery from magical creatures, floor three, room 412.“ He nods his thanks and 5 minutes later stands in front of the door, taking one last centring breath before knocking.

"Enter!“ Sirius hoarse voice calls and he steps into the friendly, bright room.

Looks like the ministry does its best to make up for their mistakes, then. Opposite from the door is a tall window with plants in front of it, a sofa and a coffee table to one side and the bed, in which his brother is currently sitting, with a nightstand to the other.

"Hello, Sirius. You look a little better already“ he smiles, still standing in the entrance.

"It's a miracle what a shower can do for you. Do you want to sit?“ his brother asks hesitantly, gesturing to a chair standing beside the bed.

Regulus nods, closes the door behind him and crosses the short distance. "How are you?“ he asks, before the silence can become awkward, or more awkward than the whole thing already is.

"As good as can be expected I suppose. I'm just glad to finally be out of that hellhole. Well, that and that you're not another Healer shoving an endless number of potions down my throat.“

Regulus smiles a little; leave it to his brother to compare Healers to Azkaban. "Did they say something about how long you'll have to stay here?“

"Hm, they found the most pressing matter is surprisingly the malnutrition, not my mental state. I still have therapy every day and a strict potions regimen, but they said 3 months should be sufficient, with regular check-ups for another 6 months afterwards.“ Sirius looks very self-satisfied at that and while his smile doesn't completely reach his eyes, Regulus can still see his mischievous character beneath the gaunt and worn-out facade.

"That's fantastic Siri, I'm glad,“ he says honestly, the old nickname slipping out on instinct. “Are you going to tell me how you managed the feat of staying as sane as you possibly ever get in the face of Dementors?“

Sirius chuckles, it sounds raspy and dry and ends in coughing, but Regulus nevertheless marvels at how easy it is to find some sense of normality. He knows it won't stay this easy, that they will have to tackle all their problems at one point, that they have only been sitting here for 10 minutes. But these 10 minutes have gone over much better than he anticipated, starting with the fact that Sirius didn’t kick him out instantly.

"Let's just say Pettigrew wasn't the only one with some special abilities,“ his brother smirks after getting his breathing back under control, and Regulus tilts his head while thinking that through, before his eyes widen in realisation.

"You're an Animagus as well! Of course, that makes so much sense, I wondered anyway how Pettigrew managed that, he was never particularly talented. And Dementors don't recognize animals, so they couldn't torment you so much. I take it that you're unregistered, then?“

"You always were the smarter one, Reggie“ Sirius smiles softly, and he has to look away, his own nickname from Sirius bringing a whole lot of emotions with it.

Clearing his throat, he looks back at his brother. "Let me guess, Potter as well?“ at Sirius nod he smirks a bit and continues, "to keep Lupin company, I suppose?“

His brothers’ eyes widen, and he snorts, waving a hand negligently. "Oh, please Sirius, it’s not that hard to put two and two together when someone disappears every month for 2 days and afterwards looks like he had a run-in with a Nundu.“

"But- But you never said anything!“

Regulus sighs. "Of course not, why should I? Contrary to your belief, I don't have prejudices against creatures, didn't have since around the time I started Hogwarts, really.“

They fall silent, Sirius fiddling with a thread on his blanket and furrowing his brows. "I assumed a lot back then, didn't I?“ he finally says silently, looking at Regulus with a pained expression.

He shifts in his seat and shrugs, unable to disagree but hesitant to get into that particular discussion already.

"You know, ten years is a lot of time to think. I wasn't very fair to you back then and I- I'm sorry. I still don't understand a lot of the things you did or believed, but I shouldn't have just given up on you.“ Sirius adds, and he swallows a few times around the lump forming in his throat.

There’s still a lot wrong with that statement and it’s not remotely enough to fix their wrecked relationship, but maybe it’s a start, at least. "Thank you, Siri. I can't say it's alright because I would be lying, and you have to accept that I'm not going to change to get your approval, not then and not now, but it's good to hear anyway.“ He says softly and Sirius nods, emotions warring in his eyes.

"Tell me a bit about what happened in the last ten years? Remus already gave me a general overview but, you know, who's still alive of our charming family for example?“

Regulus gladly goes with the change of subject and thinks for a few seconds about the question. The Black family-tree is rather complicated. "Well, for one our mother died in 1985, she got sick after the war and I suppose she lost her will to fight.“

Sirius grimaces at the mention of their mother and Regulus doesn't resent him for it. He didn’t mourn as much as would be expected either.

"Grandfather Pollux died last year, shortly after Grandmother Irma, but Arcturus is still alive. After Melania died in 1985, he willed the title of Lord Black to me and moved to France though. Cassiopeia is also still alive and living in Italy, I suppose she will only die when she decides to.“

Sirius laughs; their Grandaunt is a force to be reckoned with and has always been the most fun of their family, together with Alphard maybe.

"Let’s see, Aunt Lucretia is still alive, but Uncle Ignatius died in the war, but I suppose you knew that. Cygnus and Druella are both alive and all of their children of course. Well, Bella is in Azkaban as you probably know, and I don't know how Andromeda is doing. I tried reaching out to her after taking on the title of Lord Black, but she always ignored my letters, so I stopped eventually. Cissa is well, her son is in Hadrian’s year. I think everybody else died before you went to Azkaban, so that's all I can think of now.“

"Huh, that's more of them still around than I expected. Are you still in contact with all of them?“

"More or less I suppose, less over the last 2 years. I've told nobody that Hadrian moved in with me, as we were keeping the whole thing quiet and I wanted to spare him the madness of our family before he had a chance to settle in. Especially considering his blood-status, I fear Cygnus and Druella, in particular, will need some time to accept that. I actually have to face Cissa later about not letting her know.“

Sirius grins at him, before furrowing his brows and softly asking: "How is Hadrian? And how did he end up living with you? Don't get me wrong, he sounded like he enjoyed it and I'm glad you took him in, but it seems rather random to me...“ he trails off with an apologetic look.

Regulus is only surprised that it took Sirius this long to ask. "It's a long story, and not all of it is mine to tell. He contacted me when he was 8 and we met, then started to get to know each other. It wasn't hard to see that the situation with his family was... _suboptimal,_ so I offered him to move in with me and he did, shortly before his 9th birthday. When we unsealed his parents' will this summer, we found out that his parents even named me as possible guardian. Of course, after you, the Longbottoms’, Pettigrew and Snape, but none of them were an option so... yeah.“

"If he lived with Muggles before, who was his magical guardian then?“ Sirius asks, looking unsurprised about the content of the will.

"Dumbledore. He's also the one who sealed the will in the first place and the reason why we kept it quiet until his start of Hogwarts.“

Sirius sneers at the name, an expression that looks foreign on his face. "That old bastard. I can't believe that we all trusted him so much. I should have listened to Arcturus a bit more often, the old man was right about a few things.“ he mutters, seemingly more to himself.

Regulus raises an eyebrow, not having expected such a confession. Well, he’s not surprised about Sirius’ contempt for Dumbledore, 10 years in Azkaban will do that for you, but giving credit to someone of their family is a new one.

Sirius shakes himself out of his impending brooding. "Tell me a bit about Hadrian?“

"He's a great kid, honestly. Terribly smart and sarcastic, but he's also very reserved and distant towards people he doesn't know. I think it would be best if you write to him and try to get to know him yourself. Just... don't expect him to be like his parents, alright?“ he says after pondering it for a while, unwilling to give away something that Hadrian might want to hold back.

"Yeah okay, I can understand that. What house is he in?“

A sly grin steals its way on his face. It’s a bit mean perhaps and he knows this could lead to Sirius accusing him of influencing his godson, but his brother needs to get over his hatred for everything silver-green eventually, and after all the prejudices he had to face from him and his friends during his own school-time he can't help feeling a bit smug and vindictive. "He's in Slytherin, and however much you might hate it, it's the only house that fits. I could tell that even before he moved in with me.“

Sirius grimaces but visibly holds himself back, throwing him a look that tells him that he knows exactly how much he enjoys this. "A Potter in Slytherin. Well, I suppose it's time to get over the whole House-rivalry after reaching 30, huh?“ he doesn't sound like he believes himself, but it’s the thought that counts and all that.

"You have experience with breaking sorting traditions, don't you? You'll get used to it.“ he teases his brother, who snorts in response.

A knock and the opening of the door interrupts them, a Medi-witch entering the room with a crate of potions and a tray of food levitating behind her.

Regulus casts a Tempus, realising that it’s already past lunch and stands. "Well, brother of mine, I think I need to get going, lest Cissa is going to have my head. Write to Hadrian, it'll need time for him to warm up but don't take it personally, alright?“

Sirius nods and smiles gratefully. "Thanks for visiting. Are you going to come more often?“ He looks hesitant and unsure, something that seems out of place on his once so boisterous and confident brother.

Regulus shifts his weight and nods, "Sure, if you want me to?“

"I think I'd like that.“

"Alright then. I'll see you, Siri.“

* * *

He floos over to Malfoy Manor and is received by a house-elf before being led into the sitting room. Narcissa already awaits him. "Hello Cousin, you're looking tired,“ she greets him after kissing his cheek, sharp eyes examining his face.

"Cissa, it's good to see you,“ he smiles at her. "I visited Sirius today, with the trial and everything I didn't sleep much the last weeks. You could help me out with coffee?“

The corner of her mouth twitches at his request and while they’re sitting down, she orders an elf to bring them his desired beverage and some scones.

"How is Sirius doing, then?“ she asks, after pouring them both a cup and leaning back in her armchair.

"Better than can be expected, really. The Healers say the most pressing matter is his malnutrition and that he will be able to leave in about 3 months.“

"That’s impressive. But Sirius has always been exceptionally stubborn, so I don't know if I should be that surprised,“ she says in an amused tone.

He hides his smile behind his cup of coffee and they’re silent for a few moments before she looks at him sharply. "So, Hadrian Potter lived with you for the last 2 years and you decided not to tell me.“

Cutting to the chase, then. It isn't even a question. He knew that not telling her about Hadrian would make for an extensive scolding later on, and he has been indecisive over it for a long time. "I'm sorry Cissa, but I had my reasons. I'm sure you heard by now what he testified at the trial, and it was worse than he made it out to be. It's not that I didn't know that you would keep it silent, but that I wanted to give him a chance to settle in and get used to his new living circumstances,“ he says softly, running a finger over the rim of his cup to avoid looking at her.

Many people think of Narcissa only as the soft-spoken, always polite Pureblood-wife, but his cousin is a Black at heart and can be downright vicious if she wants to. The kind of person that smiles nicely while stabbing you in the back if you cross her. He doesn't think that it’s that bad now, but she always manages to make him feel chastised like they’re still children with only a look.

"Didn't you think we could have helped him with that? I'm sure it would have been nice for him to have contact with a child of his age,“ she asks with a raised eyebrow, and he sighs.

"Please don't get me wrong, but that's one of the reasons why I didn't tell you. Hadrian is a... very reserved child and I think he would have been overwhelmed with moving out, being confronted with Draco’s rather... demanding personality and all the attention you would have wanted to give him.“

Even if she won't understand it, he knows that it has been the right decision. He has no doubt that her learning about Hadrian’s previous living circumstances would have led to her mothering him to no end. Not to mention that Draco is spoiled to a fault, but there’s no need to tell her everything he’s thinking.

She purses her lips, obviously annoyed with him. "I could have respected that.“

He smiles at her, fondly rolling his eyes. “Please, you and I both know that, as soon as you heard that a previously neglected child lives with me, you would have had a thousand well-meant tips for me and wouldn't have let me rest until you met him, pestered him to play with Draco and deluged him with presents and attention, while all he wanted to do was to sit in the library and be left alone. I love you Cissa, you know that, but you'd have a hard time to get along with a child that loves spending hours in a potions lab with Severus Snape because both of them only speak when there is an urgent need to do so.“

She huffs and looks away from him, knowing he’s right but unwilling to admit it.

"You know, he adjusted very well and he's settling in at Hogwarts. I have no doubt that he'll like to get to know you over Yule and you both will get more out of it than you would have two years ago,“ he adds, observing how her features soften and she relaxes a bit more into her seat.

"Don't think I'm not angry anymore just because you're right Regulus. See if I save you from all the witches set on marrying you at the next Yule-ball again!“ she admonishes, but the amusement in her eyes and the turning up of her mouth tells him that she isn't seriously angry.

"Whatever shall I do!“ he exclaims dramatically, grinning when she rolls her eyes at his antics.

He can feel a weight lift off his shoulders over the fact that this went over well. He hated having to keep something so big from her, even with her being 6 years older than him they’ve always been close, especially after Bella and Sirius were sent to Azkaban. Just because he knew that it was the better way, doesn't mean he liked it.

They spend another hour catching up with each other, exchanging stories over what Hadrian and Draco report from Hogwarts, including Narcissa going off on a rant about all the faults of Dumbledore that has him laughing and nearly hoping for the old fool that it won't be his cousin who gets her hands on him one day. 

When he finally leaves shortly before dinner, he feels lighter than he did since Hadrian went off to Hogwarts. Not even the fact that he now has no excuses left to not inform the other remaining Blacks over Hadrian can dampen the mood. The article in the Prophet was printed 2 weeks ago, it’s bad enough that he didn’t already contact them.

He doesn’t doubt that they’ll have to face a Black family reunion soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to take some liberties with the other remaining Blacks!  
> In Canon, Arcturus died in 1991 and Cassiopeia, Lucretia and Cygnus died in 1992, for the others there is no official day of death.  
> I always found that weird because the last generation of Blacks all died in their 50s and 60s (except Arcturus), which is terribly young for wizards. As I really like the idea of including more of the Blacks, I'm simply going to ignore those dates for now, and they won't all die shortly after being introduced.  
> I have the suspicion that J.K. found it to be easier this way, with Grimmauld being Headquartes and all that, and I make it easy for myself now aswell by ignoring that, without thinking up an elaborate backstory for how they're staying alive for some years. Just in case anybody is wondering! :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit late but here it is!  
> Thank you all again for the amazing feedback I receive! <33
> 
> Also, someone commented how the spacing sometimes makes it hard to read and after I looked back over it I could totally see it.  
> As I'm writing and editing the chapters in Word and use different font and size there, I didn't really notice, but yeah, I'm going to go back over the already posted chapters during the next few days to edit that.  
> If you have something like that please let me know, it's my first attempt at writing fanfiction and I'm glad about constructive tips. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Mr. Potter-Black, please stay after class.“ Snape’s drawling voice reaches him while he’s finishing up his potion.

Looking up he nods at his Professor, ignoring the curious glances from his housemates and the snickering from some of the Gryffindors. He’s getting exceptionally good at the whole 'selective perception'-thing.

He takes his time cleaning up his workstation and tells his friends that he’ll meet them in the common room later, wondering what Snape wants from him. He didn't do anything as far as he’s concerned – or well, he _is_ planning to steal a priceless artefact, and he doubts that first years are supposed to practise the spells he does, but he _knows_ that nobody caught on to that pastime of his yet.

After the last students left, he hoists his bag over his shoulder and approaches Snape’s desk, coming to stand in front of it.

"Please sit, this is a more... ah, personal matter,“ Snape says, a faint sneer passing over his lips at his own wording.

He can feel his eyes widen slightly, getting the inkling of an idea what this might be about and hoping that his Head of House doesn't want to have a heart-to-heart with him now, something that would only serve to make them both uncomfortable and that he got more than enough from other people over the last weeks since the trial.

"I'm sure you know that your parents will has been read officially before the trial and that I have been mentioned in it?“ Snape’s face doesn't give anything away, he’s sitting still as a statue while Hadrian fights the urge to fidget.

Snape seems to notice because the lines of his face soften ever so slightly, and he sighs. "I know you're as disagreeable as I am with talking about these kinds of things, especially after weeks of strangers pestering you about private matters. But there are a few things I need to say. I promise I won't make any big declarations and neither do I expect any of you, understood?“

He lets out a relieved breath and relaxes a little in his chair. He genuinely likes the dour man and would’ve hated to brush him off. He knows his concern about Snape suddenly becoming emotional is most likely unwarranted, but he’s a little on edge these days.

"Thank you, Sir. I hope you know it's nothing personal, it's just...“ he trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hand in the direction of the school as a whole and grimacing a little.

Snape’s lips twitch and he inclines his head. “Don't worry. Anyway, there are two points I want to discuss. First, your parents named me as one of your possible guardians, and while I don't intend to challenge Regulus as long as you're not explicitly expressing the wish for me to do so, I'd like you to know that I was not aware of this. Also, if you ever do find yourself in the need of somebody to talk to, my door is open for you. Just because we both prefer silence most of the time, doesn't mean I won't listen.“

He gives Hadrian a searching look, who has to admit that he feels strangely touched by the gesture and smiles a bit in thanks.

Snape, obviously satisfied with that response, continues, “Very well. The other point is that your mother left me her academical journals. She was an impressively bright witch, something you obviously got from her and reading them only fortified that opinion of mine. It was also stated that she wished for me to share these journals with you if you want. The main topics are Potions and Charms, and seeing that you're far ahead of your peers in my classes I wish to offer you the opportunity to come to my office once a week to look at her journals and possibly work on some of the mentioned potions under my supervision.“

He sits up straighter, excitement bubbling up in his chest. He likes Potions well enough; brewing manages to soothe him even better than Herbology does, but it’s true that the things they’re working on in class are far under his skill-level. The prospect of working on more advanced things, together with the renowned Potions master no less, looks like a beacon of light in a sea full of boredom, at least as far as his classes are concerned. "I would like that a lot, thank you, Sir!“

"Very well then. Seeing that my schedule is, unfortunately, depending on a lot of different things, we will have to arrange the day individually every week, but I suppose Saturday or Sunday afternoon will be the most likely to work.“

"That's fine Professor, I don't have any fixed obligations yet besides my classes and will comply with what is best for you,“ he smiles, hoping to convey how much he appreciates this offer.

"Good. Last but not least, I'd prefer to keep this arrangement between the two of us. I don't want to be accused of favouritism, but neither do I want to end up in the Prophet for being involved in your family drama. Besides, I suspect the Headmaster would get even more... curious about my knowledge of your skill-level, and I'd prefer to avoid that as well.“ Snape’s sneer is back in full-force and Hadrian bites back a grin, instead only nodding his agreement.

"Of course, Sir, I wouldn't wish the attention of the press or the Headmaster on anyone. My only worry is that my friends will notice sooner or later, they can be rather observant.“

Snape’s lips twitch in amusement once more, and he looks resigned when he says: "Yes, I suppose that could become a problem. You may let them know as long as you impart the importance of confidentiality to them. My only alternative would be to mask those meetings as detentions, but that would blemish your record and I suppose you'd rather avoid that.“

"Well yes, as long as it's possible I'd rather not.“

"Fair enough. I think that's all for now, Mr. Potter-Black. We will start this Sunday at 4 pm,“ Snape says, sitting up straighter and clearly dismissing him.

Standing up, he smiles once again. “Thank you, Professor, I really appreciate it. And this was less uncomfortable than I expected it to be.“

"Yes, yes, you're welcome. Now get out,“ Snape grumbles, amusement clear in his eyes while flicking his wand to open the door. Leaving the Potions lab, Hadrian’s mood is better than it has been for the last few days.

* * *

Since the trial the press has one field-day after another with exploiting every little detail they can get their hands on. It started with reports on Sirius; first, the contents of the trial, followed by stories about his youth, his school days and the war.

Then they got into the family stuff, digging up everything they found about the Blacks that wouldn't pull too much wrath from Regulus or other Blacks towards them.

Finally, they fixated on Hadrian’s short testimony about his life before he moved in with Regulus. They even tried to visit the Dursleys, resulting in the reporter getting shouted at and chased after by Vernon. It made the front page, of course, a detailed report about the hateful, horrible Muggles their precious Saviour had to endure.

He long since stopped counting how many students and teachers approached him, offering condolence while mostly just salivating after more details. Well, probably not all of them, but it still rubs him the wrong way that people he doesn't even know, are so invested in his personal life. It’s a strange mix of pity, sensationalism, and anger on his behalf, none of it things he has much use or patience for. Hufflepuffs are bringing him food, for Merlin’s sake.

Thankfully, his own housemates are more discrete about the whole thing. He assumes it has to do with the fact that they know the struggle of having their family business slandered in the press, and that some of their own families aren't always the warmest. Slytherin kind of attracts the more fucked up people, he observed.

Of course, the Prophet doesn't miss out on the opportunity to dig into Dumbledore either, printing long reports about his blame for Sirius' imprisonment and Hadrian’s early living-situation, questioning his sanity and responsibility as well as the influence he holds.

The Headmaster can now often be seen with a stormy expression on his face and started to skip meals in the Great Hall. Hadrian suspects Fudge to have a hand in that, to shift the blame far away from the Ministry, at least a little. But while the Minister is a fool, Dumbledore is a downright bastard, so he doesn't mind if they make him their scapegoat. Dumbledore’s defamation placates some of his own annoyance after all, and it can only lead to good things if people begin to challenge some of their beliefs.

Unfortunately, it has the side-effect that those that don't fall into the category of pity or discretion started to accuse him of denunciating the 'great Albus Dumbledore', dishonouring and betraying his own origins and a whole lot of similar nonsense. It bothers him much less than the strange shows of sympathy, and especially the personal offence Ron Weasley and a few other righteous Gryffindors display never fails to amuse him, but overall, it’s still annoying.

Regulus does his best to contain the worst articles, but even the influence of the House of Black only goes so far, and while they aren’t printing outright lies, to not get sued, they manage to spin all of it into a dramatic sob-story.

They had to install a block on Hadrian’s post, only allowing letters from approved sources through, because people outside of Hogwarts also feel entitled to share their opinions about the whole ordeal with him and after a few days of being flooded in a mix of letters and howlers every morning, he had more than enough.

Blaise finds the whole thing absolutely hilarious of course, teasing him relentlessly over the most ridiculous headlines in the Prophet ( _"Our Saviour! Attacked, abused, rescued!“_ or _"The boy-who-lived-to-be-cast-aside!“_ ), but altogether, his friends are probably the only thing keeping him sane these days.

They regularly shake off more persistent students, throwing looks of contempt at anyone who approaches them in the library or in the hallways.

Even Daphne and Theo spared a few cutting remarks for those that became too annoying, from asking if they have nothing better to do, to questioning if they ever heard of the term 'personal space.'

The whole 'Slytherins are evil'-prejudice helps in slowing down the direct approach of many, but the friendly image Hadrian crafted for himself works kind of against that now.

He knows there’s not much he can do, except waiting for another scandal to capture the interest of the masses. It’s not worth destroying his own reputation over something like this, so he stays friendly but distant, making no secret out of his annoyance about the interest in his personal life, and keeps to his routines as much as possible. If they stay in the common room more often, instead of studying in the library, nobody can blame them for not wanting to be interrupted constantly.

Another thing helping him keep his sanity is Death of course, who started to comment on the most ridiculous things in Hadrian’s head, often questioning why people are so afraid of dying if all they do with their life is talking and wondering over that of other people.

Hadrian has no response to that, not understanding himself why there’s such an interest in him. Of course, he gets the theory, people believe that he vanished Voldemort, but it doesn't help to uplift his general opinion of them – how anybody can think a toddler achieved that without any outside help. The only possible explanation (omitting Death, that is) would’ve been his parents, but he supposes a hero that still lives simply offers more entertainment.

But Death’s commentary at least cheers him up, which in turn regularly confuses the hell out of those around him when he has to suppress a laugh while they’re pitying him, - which only amuses the both of them further.

All in all, the amount of attention is utterly annoying, but all things considered, it could have been much worse.

* * *

Apart from finding refuge with his friends and his everlasting companion, he starts to make extensive use of the Invisibility Cloak Regulus slipped him at the trial. He often wanders the castle alone, exploring with the help of his Gryffindor ring and relishing in having some time to himself outside of 'his' training room in the dungeon.

The day after his talk with Snape he strolls around close to the Gryffindor tower when he hears voices coming out of an abandoned classroom. He can make out two or three different people, one definitely speaking in a mocking tone and another one sniffing and tearful.

He only hesitates for a few seconds and then creeps closer, wanting to have a better idea of what’s going on before interfering. The door stands slightly ajar and he now understands what’s being said.

"You're such a baby Neville, I didn't even do anything serious to you yet. The only thing you're good for is watering plants, are you even a wizard?!“

He recognises Ron Weasleys’ voice before a second boy speaks up that he suspects to be Seamus Finnigan. The two of them have taken to sticking together, the latter now often joining the redheads attempts to rile him up. While they’re not very successful, they apparently found someone they expect to have a chance against.

Anger curls in his stomach at the thought; how utterly pathetic to gang up against someone who’s obviously rather shy and timid.

He silently puts his cloak away and slips inside, unnoticed by the two annoying Gryffindors that have their backs turned to him. Neville kneels on the floor crying, a plant shattered in front of him.

"What's this then? Do you need to assure yourself of your _bravery_ by attacking someone obviously unwilling to fight back? Is that the high-praised chivalry and righteousness you Gryffindors pride yourselves on?“ he sneers mockingly while twirling his wand between his fingers.

Both of them whirl around and take a few steps back. He wonders what provoked them to be so wary of him, he never hexed anybody except a few 3rd-year Slytherins, and that knowledge stayed within his house.

Weasley points his wand at him, but his hand shakes slightly and his voice isn't very intimidating when he says: "Get lost, Potter, this has nothing to do with you!“

He grins, showing a little too many teeth for it to be a nice one and raises an eyebrow. "Well, but I'm making it about me now. It's a bit ironic, all the hatred you spew about Slytherins and how we're all so _terribly evil_ , while we at least look after our own, don't you think?“

"What do you care, Neville isn't one of you!“ Weasley spits, his face constantly getting more red.

"I _care_ because I despise bullying. You're a _coward_ , Ron Weasley, all bark and no bite. Or why do you never attempt to hex me, for example?“

"Densaugeo!“ Ron shouts enraged, eyes blazing with humiliation and fury.

He silently flicks his wand, conjuring up a shield and laughs, "A Teeth-growing hex, honestly? Now that’s just pathetic. I'd be more cautious about Finnegan here trying at all, considering that he would most likely blow something up. Now I suggest that both of you get lost before I change my mind and decide to show you how to hex someone.“ He lets his anger creep into his voice while taking a step to the side, gesturing to the door behind him.

The two Gryffindors stare at him until he raises his wand, and they stumble to get out of the room quickly. So much for the famous bravery.

Shaking his head, he turns back to Neville, who’s still kneeling on the ground and watches him with wide eyes. "Hey, are you okay? Did they do anything to you?“ he asks in a softer voice and crouches down next to him.

"No… No… Just, they just de- destroyed m-my plant,“ he murmurs so silently that Hadrian would’ve had trouble to understand him if he didn’t sit directly next to him.

He tips his wand against the broken flowerpot and mutters a quick "Reparo“ before smiling at Neville. "There, if you put some fresh soil into it tomorrow it should be fine.“

"Thank- Thank you. Yo-you didn't have to.“ Neville stammers, causing Hadrian to sigh.

"No, I didn't, but I didn't lie when I said that I despise bullying. Besides, I like Herbology, there's nothing wrong with being good at it.“

That causes Neville to smile softly, and getting back to his feet, Hadrian holds out a hand to help him up.

"Did this happen before? That they bother you I mean?“ he asks after cleaning them both with a quick spell.

Neville seems hesitant but finally nods, adding directly afterwards: “But it's alright, I really am a horrible wizard, and I probably don't belong into Gryffindor anyway. I'm not brave at all.“

"That’s bullshit,“ he scoffs, "brave is not something you are but what you choose to be, and what the both of them do isn't brave. If they were, they wouldn't need to attack you two against one.“

Neville doesn't look convinced, fiddling with the pot in his hands and avoids looking at him.

"Listen, if you like you can join me and my friends studying some time?“ Neville’s head whips around, staring at him as if he just proclaimed that he wants to maim him or something.

"I-I-I can- can't d-do that!“ he stutters, even more so than before, "You-you're a-a-all too good, good for m-me!“

Hadrian rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Well, then I suppose we'll have to help you to get over that, won't we? Come on, you can try it out and if you find us to be as horrible as our reputation makes us out to be, I promise we won't force you.“

Neville grins nervously, but there’s a little bit of hope entering his eyes and he visibly steels himself. “Alright then. Can't be worse than my own house-mates.“

"That's the spirit!“ Hadrian laughs, gesturing for the other boy to accompany him out of the room.

* * *

The next day after lunch, he searches Neville out and drags him to the library, where Blaise, Daphne, Theo, and Draco already occupy their usual table in the back.

He told them about his encounter the night before, and all of them were kind of appalled at the treatment of the Gryffindors towards one of their own. While confrontations are anything but unheard of in their own house, there’s rarely bullying of weaker students. Not to say that it never happens, but if Slytherins considered someone underneath themselves they mostly ignore them. It’s not the nicest thing either, but as far as he’s concerned, he'd prefer being ignored over being bullied any day.

He warned them to be friendly to Neville, addressing Blaise and Draco specifically, convinced that all the timid boy needs are some patience and positive reinforcement to get over his insecurities.

It’s glaringly obvious that Neville feels rather uncomfortable and wary about them, most likely expecting to be ridiculed at any moment, but Theo ropes him into a discussion about rare magical plants that quickly eases some of the tension in Neville’s hunched posture.

Hadrian keeps to his new resolve, regularly dragging the Gryffindor along, and slowly but surely Neville relaxes around them and opens up a bit more.

Even Draco warms up to him when he learns that, while the Longbottoms are definitely a light family, they value the Olde Ways and still celebrate the traditional holidays like Samhain, Yule and so on.

It’s that particular discussion that reminds Hadrian that Samhain is only 3 days away and that it’ll be the first time in 3 years that he won't celebrate with Regulus.

Upon realising that Hogwarts doesn't celebrate Samhain at all, but Halloween instead, he has to once again swallow his anger about Dumbledore and decides to do the ritual after the feast anyway.

Regulus sends him the things he’ll need, together with a warning to not get caught, and when his friends learn about his plan, they instantly ask to join him.

* * *

The 31st of October starts out normal enough, even with most of the students in obvious excitement over the impending feast.

Death grumbles the whole day in the back of Hadrian’s mind about the growing disrespect for the day that was once used to honour him, joined from the outside by the complaints of his friends about the amount of decoration that’s adopted from the Muggle-world.

Hadrian supposes that it’s worse for them, as they were simply never exposed to the way Muggles celebrate Halloween. The latter never held any meaning to him, it’s not like he celebrated any holidays while living with the Dursleys, and after moving in with Regulus he quickly accustomed himself to the traditions of the wizarding world.

He looks forward too much to experiencing the ritual once again, even if a little sad about having to do so without Regulus, to get really annoyed about the celebration Hogwarts does. He simply resigns himself to sitting through the feast before attending his own ceremony.

They‘ve been sitting on the Slytherin table for maybe 10 minutes when Death makes a noise in his head that vaguely resembles the clearing of a throat. Draco is _still_ rambling on about the outrage of only serving sweets for dinner, so Hadrian has no qualms about turning his attention inwards.

_"Quirrell, or well, Voldemort, just let a troll into the school to cause a distraction while he is going to check out the protections on the stone.“_

Hadrian can't stop himself from stiffening, hands clenching around his cutlery. _"Oh joy,“_ he answers dryly, quickly thinking over his options.

Before he can come to any decision however, the doors to the Great Hall burst open and the subject of his current annoyance runs down the middle aisle, shouting: "TROLL! In the dungeons!! I thought you should know!“ before 'fainting' in front of the Head table.

While the whole hall instantly starts to panic, Hadrian only lets his head fall into his hands. Dumbledore’s order for them to go to their dorms and Quirrell’s disappearance amidst the chaos kind of takes the conscious choice from him, and he would’ve patted himself on the shoulder for having his Cloak with him if it wouldn’t have looked so strange to everybody else.

In the chaos of evacuating the Great Hall he slips away from his housemates, but only gets a few steps before Blaise grabs his wrist and hisses: "What the hell do you think you're doing?“

Groaning, he throws the cloak over both of them and murmurs: “Honestly, sending us into the dungeon when that's where the troll is supposed to be?! Anyway, I have to check something. Either you come with me without asking too many questions, or you turn around, just decide quickly.“

"I'm coming with you, obviously, but let it be noted that I think you're mental!“

"Fair enough, come on.“

They make their way through the entrance hall, up the stairs and just reached the first floor when they’re hit with a stench that has both of them nearly gagging. He pulls Blaise into an Alcove, just as the origin of the foul smell enters the corridor and slowly makes its way into their direction.

"Of course, it _has_ to be a mountain troll, why ever not?!“ he hisses under his breath, pressing his sleeve closely over his mouth and nose.

The troll passes them without notice, entering a girl’s bathroom a few feet to their left. He just wants to pull Blaise with him to go on into the other direction, when a high, terrorised scream echoes through the empty corridor.

"Oh, Salazar no, fucking honestly?“ he whispers furiously, pondering what to do.

As little as he cares for strangers in general, letting someone get smashed by a troll in a bathroom, with nobody else there to help, isn't something he can do without batting an eye.

Blaise sighs beside him, murmuring: “You're right. I hate it, and I don't want to, but we can't just leave, can we?!“

 _"Quirrell is having trouble with the Cerberus and Snape is on his way to the third floor, so you don't have to worry about that at least.“_ Death chooses to comment, which placates at least some of his current inner conflict.

If he has to choose between rescuing a student or preventing the return of an insane Voldemort, there wouldn't be much thinking on his part, guilty conscience or not.

Pulling the cloak off he sighs once again. "Come on then, I think I have a plan, just do what I say without arguing, alright?“

Blaise looks like he wants to do exactly that. Hadrian doesn't take offence; Blaise doesn't know that he spent a few weeks planning how to get past a mountain troll after all.

Another scream and loud crashes spur them into action, and with a last fleeting thought how it’s possible that none of the Professors heard the commotion yet, they enter the bathroom.

The troll stands in the middle, swinging his club and wrecking the entire room to shreds, while Hermione Granger cowers on the floor in the far corner under a heap of rubble, curled into a small ball and hands gripping her head protectively.

"Alright, I'm going to freeze the water on the floor, instantly afterwards we're both going to hit it with a Knockback Jinx. Ready?!“ he says to Blaise, who looks anything but, but nods anyway.

Taking one last, deep breath Hadrian points his wand towards the flooded floor and shouts: “Glacius!“ causing the troll to lose its footing and stop in the destruction of the bathroom.

"Now!" - "Flipendo!“ they both shout, their Jinxes hitting the beast in short succession and resulting in it stumbling enough that it slips, falling into the line of sinks and mirrors behind him. The crash should be loud enough to wake up half of the castle.

Aiming his wand back at the frozen floor, Hadrian hisses _$Freeze,$_ directing the ice to spread over the huge body quickly.

It won't stop it permanently, but it gives them enough time to carefully make their way over the ice to the still cowering girl and drag her with them out of the bathroom.

She’s shaking and crying, clutching at his robes and barely stumbling along, but he doesn't stop until they’re a few feet away from the bathroom, unwilling to take any chances. He at least wants to be able to run if the beast gets up any time soon.

Coming to a halt next to the Alcove he and Blaise hid in, he carefully pushes her hands away from him and looks her over. "Are you hurt?“

Still sobbing, she shakes her head. “I-I don't think so, o-only a few cuts.“

Before he can ask the next question, namely _what the hell she’s been doing here,_ footsteps echo in the corridor and McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell make their way towards them. Of course, _now_ they come.

He flicks his wrist inconspicuously in the direction of the bathroom, cancelling his Freezing Charms. They’re not something a first-year can normally do, especially the one in Parsel.

"What are the three of you doing here?!“ McGonagall asks sharply, eyes stopping on Grangers dishevelled state.

"Blaise and I lost our housemates in the chaos of evacuating the Great Hall. Considering that the troll was supposed to be in the dungeons, exactly _where our common room is_ , we decided it would be safer to wait in the upper levels of the castle. When we reached the first floor, we heard screams coming from the girl’s bathroom. The troll had cornered Granger and as no adults were close, we tried to distract it long enough for her to escape. We hit it with a couple of Knockback Jinxes, which, fortunately, was enough.“ Hadrian explains before the other two can get in a word edgewise.

He once again mentally thanks the paranoia of the Black family and that the portraits at Grimmauld Place trained him in lying relentlessly. It’s a plausible story, and all three teachers look like they bought it. Well, you can never be sure with Snape, but he’s unlikely to call him out on it, Slytherin rules and all that.

"Ms. Granger, why didn't you go to your common room with the other Gryffindors?“ McGonagall asks in a low tone, causing the girl to clutch hard to Hadrian’s robes again.

He bites back a grimace at the contact, accepting that nearly getting killed by a mountain troll might warrant the complete disregard of personal space.

"I- I didn't feel well after Charms and didn't attend the feast. I didn't know there was a _troll_ in the school. If Blaise and Hadrian hadn't found me-“ she breaks off, not needing to finish that sentence.

He just hopes that she won't mention how exactly they saved her, and simply leaves it at his explanation with the Knockback Jinxes.

"The prefects should have noticed your absence,“ McGonagall murmurs, more to herself than to the rest of them.

He carefully examines Quirrell and Snape, the first looking rather pale and shaky while his Head of House simply appears to be annoyed.

"Maybe Ms. Granger should visit the hospital wing?“ Blaise speaks up for the first time, "and somebody should get the troll out of the bathroom. We knocked it out, but I doubt that it will stay that way.“

"Oh my, you're right of course Mr. Zabini. Severus, will you accompany your students to the common room? I'll bring Ms. Granger to Poppy and let the others know that we found the troll.“

McGonagall seems thoroughly shaken and angry about the whole ordeal and Hadrian hopes that the prefects of her house will get to face at least some consequences for forgetting about a first-year – not to mention that her own classmates should probably have informed someone.

"Come along then,“ Snape drawls. "Ah, and 10 Points to Slytherin for keeping a cool head,“ he smirks slightly, causing McGonagall to huff.

"Thank you.“ Granger murmurs with a look full of gratitude towards Blaise and him before her Head of House stirs her into the direction of the infirmary.

The three of them are silent until they reach the entrance to the dungeon, Hadrian noticing the slight limp in Snape’s gait.

"So, a couple of Knockback Jinxes against a grown mountain troll?!“ Snape sneers, throwing them a look that tells them exactly how much he believes that part of the story.

Admittedly, it’s a rather weak spot in the tale he spun.

"Well, there might have been a Freezing Charm and some Parselmagic involved,“ he shrugs, unbothered by letting Snape know about that.

The man only sighs and shakes his head in exasperation. "I'm sure Regulus will be excited to hear that,“ he finally comments dryly, and Hadrian winces.

While he has absolutely no problem with lying to his teachers, he has never done so with Regulus and neither does he intend to start now.

Unfortunately, that means he now has to tell Regulus about Quirrell and the stone, at least when he’s going home for Yule. He can only hope that, with Sirius free and Dumbledore facing at least some consequences, he can stop him from bringing the whole Ministry down onto the school.

Before entering the common room, he stops Blaise, “I'm sorry I pulled you into this.“

“It was rather exciting,” Blaise smirks with a careless shrug. “Besides, if something happened to me, you would’ve had to face my mother, and now I'll get to pester you about all the attention you're going to receive for saving the poor Muggleborn, oh Saviour.“

He groans, his whole posture slumping and only now realising that, while this incident might serve as the perfect distraction from his family drama, he’ll probably still be hailed with attention, while Blaise will simply slink back into the shadows.

Upon stepping through the entrance they’re instantly accosted by their worried friends. They tell them a slight variation of the story they shared with the teachers, that they lost them and went to hide in another part of the school but stay truthful about the fight with the troll.

Draco has a few words for them about saving a Muggleborn until Hadrian sharply asks if he’s really saying that they should’ve left a first-year to die. He looks ashamed then, which is the only thing that saves him from a long rant.

It’s already past curfew and Hadrian is absolutely exhausted, but he refuses to skip the Samhain ritual and his friends are equally unwilling.

So, when most of their housemates have gone off to bed, they creep out with all the stuff they’re going to need, carefully making their way to the room Hadrian usually practises in.

He wanted to show them the room for a while now, as it would be nice to have a place to hang out undisturbed and to practise together. Something always came up, and he found Samhain to be a fitting occasion to finally do so. It shows that he trusts them enough to give up his own little haven, and while he'd never say that out loud, he knows that they know.

That they never complained or asked too many questions when he disappears for a few hours, and simply accept that he needs time to himself, helped with that decision – and the fact that there’s a myriad of other unused rooms like that one, but still.

They chose a more common ritual, as those of the families are closely guarded secrets. It’s not as intense as the one he usually does with Regulus but doing it with more than two people changes the experience and it still takes his mind off from all the stress of the night and centres him.

When they finally return to the common room after midnight, he can feel that they became closer over this and, despite the nuisance the whole day has been, he falls asleep utterly content.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you you lovely people for all the feedback, I can't express how happy it makes me to see this so well-liked!
> 
> About updates: Until now I tried to upload a new chapter every second day. As I already had a first draft for most of them I mostly needed to edit before posting, while writing later chapters.  
> I'm now out of prewritten stuff and I doubt that I'll be able to keep to this schedule and simultaneously writing Chapters with ~5000 words.  
> I'm still going to upload every 3 or 4 days if I make it, but yes, a little less often.
> 
> Another reason is that my brain came up with another idea that apparently _absolutely couldn't wait_ so I'm currently also working on another Tomarry-fic.  
> It's slow progress and won't come out for some time, because this story will definitely stay my priority.
> 
> But yeah, if I ever get there I'll let you know when I'm starting to upload it, it's going to be mostly Toms POV, him being the Dada-teacher shortly after finishing school and MoD / female!Harry because I want to write a strong female Character as one of the main characters.  
> Ah, another rambling-note, I'm sorry! 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

The aftermath of the troll incident goes over as well as can be expected. With Hadrian’s approval Regulus leaks the story to the Prophet, as it is just a too good opportunity to deliver another kick to Dumbledore’s reputation. Really, how safe is Hogwarts if a XXXX-Creature can just enter, and would’ve killed a student if not for two selfless first years?

Of course, that doesn't change the fact that both Blaise and he receive extensive letters from home that tell them exactly how lucky they’ve been.

Well, Sirius’ most recent letter has more praise than reprimands in it and Hadrian rolls his eyes at the slight irresponsibility of his godfather, especially because said man doesn't know about his rather advanced skills. Not that it surprises him.

He learned quickly over the last few weeks that Sirius is rather immature and views rules more like a loose guideline, telling him story after story about the mischief 'The Marauders' got up to in school and constantly tries to convince him to prank his housemates.

He appreciates the sentiment of sharing stories about his parents and all that, but he has an inkling that his godfather will be rather disappointed when he discovers that, while those things get a smile from him, he doesn't have much ambition for this kind of entertainment himself.

Not to mention that, should Sirius attempt to prank him, he’ll most certainly get hexed or at least find himself unable to get into closer proximity.

Sirius is like the polar opposite to Regulus', or even Hadrian’s own character and while he noticed that Sirius has a sharp intelligence and a warm personality to him, they don't have much in common and their written exchange feels rather stilted to him.

Talking about his classes and his friends only goes so far, especially because Sirius appears to be rather sceptical about the Slytherins and often 'subtly' throws in questions about 'kids his age from other houses'. The fact that he doesn't feel as curious about his parents as one would probably expect doesn't help matters either.

While it’s nice to get a bit of a clearer picture, it also makes him feel worse about being so different from them, or that he can't say that he really misses them. The stories make them more real and personal and he doesn't know how to deal with that, as he normally just shoves thoughts of 'what ifs..?' and 'would they..?' away, satisfied with how his life has gone for the last few years and the decisions he’s making.

He doesn't see much value in dwelling in the past, he gets compared to his parents too often since arriving at Hogwarts and, as he would simply never get to know them, deems his feelings of detachment rather useful.

He finds more common ground with Remus, writing back and forth about defence or books they recently read. The werewolf is like a well of knowledge and caught on quickly to his love for learning, recommending books and sharing obscure facts he discovered over the years, as well as the occasional tip about areas of the castle he should explore – like the entrance to the kitchen for example.

With both Sirius and Remus, he brushes the topic of Dumbledore, and politics in general, only sporadically. A side-remark here and there or an innocent question about happenings in the Ministry. While both men developed a strong opinion about the Headmaster, their general mindset didn't just change overnight, and Hadrian feels wary about proclaiming some of his 'darker' opinions.

He simply doesn't trust them yet, and he wants to avoid them accusing Regulus of 'brainwashing' him or, even worse, share their inevitable worry with others. He was not this careful since arriving at Hogwarts only for his impulsive godfather to throw a fit in St. Mungo’s, and inadvertently inform the press or something.

He likes his meticulously crafted balance between neither being the loud, clueless Gryffindor-Saviour everyone expected nor a completely closed-off, arrogant Slytherin. Most people see him as a prodigious, helpful, if slightly distanced person and outside of his own house and circle of friends, he plans to keep it that way. It leads to the weird situation that, while many pay him a certain amount of attention and think they know him, nobody _truly_ looks into what he does outside of his studies.

Saving Granger did, like Blaise predicted, once again put him into the spotlight – the Slytherins rescuing the Muggleborn, what a surprise. He finds it ridiculous how suggestible people are, even some of the more cocksure Gryffindors that initially found personal offence in his sorting, suddenly allow that, apparently, 'not all Slytherins' are evil. What a concept.

His own housemates are mostly indifferent about the whole thing. While a few of the more prejudiced upper years mutter about disgrace under their breath when passing him, nobody outright confronts him and as long as it stays that way, he won't bother himself with their bullshit.

Not to mention that apparently the attacks on Slytherins from other houses slightly decreased, something one of the 2nd years, Mitcham Rosier who often lingers in his vicinity, informed him about. So, no Slytherin can really make any justified allegations without outright insulting Hadrian’s own blood-status.

Granger herself goes through a change in demeanour towards him. She stops glaring holes into the side of his head or looking insulted every time he manages a spell before she does. She doesn't outright ignore him, sometimes it looks like she wants to approach him really, but she didn’t do so as of yet.

It’s only 2 weeks after the incident that he sits alone in a corner of the library, reading up on healing potions for his ongoing work with Snape, that she hesitantly walks over to him.

“Hey... would you mind if I sit for a minute?“ she asks, looking ready to bolt at any second.

Like a few weeks prior with Weasley and Finnigan, he wonders what makes her so cautious around him. He smiles and gestures to the chair across the table, which causes her to relax a little when she sits down. He marks his page and puts the book into his lap, looking at her questioningly.

“I just... wanted to say thank you. I know I did after Blaise and you saved me but I was pretty shaken and I wanted to make sure that you know that I'm really grateful you two appeared,“ she says, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve but looking terribly earnest.

“You're welcome. It was only by chance that we found you, but I suppose we were all rather lucky that night,“ he answers casually, hoping this doesn’t become a bigger deal than it’s already made out to be.

“Well, you looked like you knew what you were doing...“ she murmured, blushing when she realises she said that out loud.

He only grins and shrugs a shoulder, unwilling to either confirm or deny that.

“I wanted to ask… What was the spell you used? The one to freeze the floor and then the troll? I know you didn't tell the teachers about it...“ she trails off, still looking unsure of herself and fidgeting a little in her chair.

After a few seconds, it comes to him that she probably suspects it to be a dark spell or something. At least she apparently didn’t hear his Parsel-spell. Even if he doesn't care much about the school finding out about that little ability of his in general, Parsel _magic_ is officially classified as dark and he would prefer to keep _that_ skill to himself.

“It was 'Glacius', the Freezing Charm. It creates cold air from the tip of your wand and subsequently freezes water or a target. I didn't tell the teachers because it's a third-year spell I found coincidentally, and I didn't want them to worry that I'm trying spells above my skill-level. I was surprised that it worked at all, I only read about it once.“

The best lies are those with the truth at the bottom after all, and the barely concealed relieve and awoken interest on her face tells him that she believes him.

“Well, you _are_ rather good at accomplishing spells on the first try,“ she murmurs, blushing again and he has to hide his amusement about her obvious habit of speaking before thinking.

“I have a good connection to my own magic, it helps,“ he smiles, unwilling to give her a reason to think too much about that particular 'talent' of his. It’s one thing to manage first-year spells effortlessly, but an 11-year old doing the same with third-year spells might raise unwanted questions.

She looks curious but apparently decides not to ask. Still, he has no doubt that she’ll look it up later.

They’re silent for a few moments, she’s biting her bottom-lip and avoids his eyes, drawing invisible lines with her fingers on the dark, worn wood of the table while he twirls his wand in his hand and wonders what she’s thinking about.

Finally, she says: “I heard what you did for Neville... When Ron and Seamus were picking on him, I mean. That was nice of you.“ She smiles a little and he raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“Thanks, I suppose? I just don't understand why they're picking on their own housemates, or how they don't feel pathetic about themselves when picking on someone who doesn't even do anything to bother them.“

“Yes well, Neville is not the only one,“ she mutters under her breath, anger clear in the tightening of her eyes.

He leans forward in his seat, crossing his arms on the table. “Were they the reason you hid in that bathroom?“

She looks like she really doesn't want to answer that but nods in the end, looking away from him.

He tilts his head a little, contemplating when he became the supporter for bullied students of all things and thinks that Blaise would most likely find another hilarious title for that.

Sighing, he says: “Let me tell you two things: first, they're probably intimidated by you. You're a smart witch and able to outdo them easily. Your problem is that you still think as you did in Muggle school. Here, you're not expected to raise your hand to every question and people think of it as showing-off, or like you're thinking that you know better than them. I'm not saying that you should dumb yourself down, it would be utterly hypocritical of me, but maybe try to tone your need for validation from the teachers down a bit.”

She looks indignant, crossing her arms over her chest and opening her mouth to speak, but he holds up a hand and shakes his head to stop her.

“I'm not saying this to insult you, but you have to look at it like visiting another country, the culture and customs simply are different and that's how it is viewed by those that grew up in this world. I'm not saying that it's fair that you don't get to learn these things earlier, but you're smart, so I'm sure you can figure it out on your own if you want to. Anyway, my second point is, and that plays into the first part, you don't need to prove anything to anyone but yourself. I know coming into this world as a Muggleborn isn't easy and you feel like you need to show all of them that you're just as good as them, but if you only do it to prove them wrong, you’re still relying on their opinion. Following that, if anybody says shit about you, don't run away. Instead, show them exactly why they shouldn't. I'm not saying hex everyone that gets on your nerves, I didn't even have to hex Weasley when catching him with Longbottom, just show them that they don't get to you, that they're not to treat you that way.“

He’s a little surprised by the length of his rant, and she clearly is as well, looking at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

After a few seconds, she gathers herself, sitting up straighter and determination entering her eyes. “You're right, what does it matter what they think.“

He grins at her approvingly, telling her the same thing he said to Neville: “That's the spirit.“

She snorts, sending him an honest smile before exhaling in a rush. “Thank you. Really, I think I needed a pep-talk.“

He waves a hand, “Don't mention it, just don't tell everyone I'm giving them out for free, I'll never catch a silent moment again.“

She laughs and leaves shortly after with more confidence and a spring in her steps that make her hair bounce around her shoulders. Even if he doesn't care personally about her, he hopes that his advice helps her, if only to spite those righteous Gryffindors.

After Samhain, he and his friends started to meet up regularly in 'his' room in the dungeon to practice what they studied outside of classes. The first few times, they had to drag Neville along, who was convinced that he'd only embarrass himself and that they would probably stop hanging out with him.

He does have far more problems with mastering spells than the rest of them, but both Draco and he can _feel_ that his magic is strong, and after some prodding, Neville admitted that he uses his father’s wand – which obviously doesn't fit him at all.

Hadrian currently works on convincing him to get his own wand fitted, that he doesn't dishonour the memory of his father by doing so and that he can pay much more tribute by being the best wizard he could possibly be.

It’s slow progress, Hadrian blames it partly on Neville’s grandmother, but at least the Gryffindor is getting better at casting and even managed to stand up to Weasley a few days prior, catching him with a Tarantallegra and undoing the Leg Locker he’s been hit with.

It made Hadrian vaguely proud, and he wonders why he cares so much more about Neville than Granger, but he suspects that he can see himself ending up a bit like the former if Death and Regulus hadn't been part of his life.

Shoving the thoughts about 'what-ifs' out of his mind, he returns his attention to the potions book he has been reading.

He and Snape spent the first few weeks mostly going through his mother’s journals and only now start on trying out the potions and improvements she thought up. Most of them are either for healing or for defence, and many of them are far above his skill-level, however advanced he may be to the first-year curriculum. So, they decided on a rather simple idea that’s still on an experimental level.

It’s supposed to be an immunity potion, meant to prevent people from getting sick in the first place. As it aspires to not only work for one illness, like a cold for example, but cover fevers, stomach bugs and relatable maladies all in one go, the list of required ingredients is rather long and they’re currently trying to figure out how to combine them, so that they don't counteract or accumulate to something poisonous.

While it’s a lengthy process of trial and error, with Snape letting him explore for himself instead of telling him what would and wouldn't work, he finds it to be fun and educating. It improves his knowledge and understanding of ingredients and technique immensely, and he enjoys working with Snape.

They keep to the routine they developed at Grimmauld Place before he started Hogwarts, working mostly in silence and only talking when Hadrian has questions or a theory he wants to be confirmed. Snape only intervenes when he would’ve attempted something that could cause a volatile reaction or throws in tips occasionally about better methods to prepare ingredients.

It’s utterly soothing work and takes his mind off other things, and while they stay clear of any personal and emotional topics, he always makes sure to let his Head of House know that he appreciates the time and effort he spares for him.

Fortunately, nobody realised yet that he’s receiving extra lessons, so to speak. He told his friends of course, but he knows they’ll keep it quiet.

Neville can't for the life of him understand that he voluntarily spends additional time with Snape, and considering how he’s treated by the dour Professor, it doesn't really surprise Hadrian. With Neville’s slowly increasing confidence, and subsequently less blown-up cauldrons, it’s getting a little bit better, and Snape now mostly targets Weasley and Finnigan.

Hadrian sometimes thinks that it would have most likely been just the same for himself if they didn’t meet before Hogwarts. He still remembers the obvious dislike during their first few meetings, which only faded through their shared reticence.

Draco was a bit miffed about the fact that his godfather doesn't work with him as well, but after Daphne reminded him not-so-nicely that it’s in remembrance of Hadrian’s _dead mother_ he backed off quickly. Hadrian had to hide a smirk at the ease with which Daphne played the spoiled Malfoy heir, but as long as it worked, he chose not to comment.

* * *

The remaining weeks of November pass quickly, and soon the castle and its grounds are covered in a thick layer of snow, biting wind hurling through the corridors and Filch constantly muttering under his breath about the puddles of water and dirt the students carry in from outside.

The dungeon is even colder than the rest of the building, and Hadrian soon taught his friends how to cast lasting Warming Charms.

Atana constantly complains about the cold, telling him extensively how it’s all so much better at Grimmauld Place, and spends most of her time in his bed under the covers, demanding re-application of said charm as soon as anyone enters the dorm. It didn't take long for Blaise and Theo to take up the habit of throwing one at his bed as well when he’s not there, endearing themselves to her quickly.

He tried to convince her that staying under his robes and benefitting from his body-heat would be the more rational choice, but she said it will only lead to people noticing her and that she was too cold to deal with stupid humans. Knowing that arguing with her would only lead to him pulling his hair out, he let her be.

Besides, the fact that outside of Slytherin everybody still remains unaware of her existence appears in a new light when he realises that it can only be to his advantage if Voldemort doesn't already learn that he’s a Parselmouth.

Of course, he has no doubt that by now many of the families of his housemates heard about that titbit of information, and should the Dark Lord make his return he’ll most likely hear it from _someone_ sooner or later. But he still hopes that there’ll be a few years until that happens and by then, it might have slipped some of their minds. It’s not all that important in the grand scheme of things and he only recently thought about it, but it has the chance to be useful at least.

He also worries about going home for Yule, with Quirrell and the stone still here and even contemplates to attempt his pursuit of the artefact before the holidays, but after a few days of observation and afterwards asking Death about it, he notices that Snape keeps a very close eye on his possessed Defence Professor since Samhain. It doesn't manage to soothe all of his worries, but if there’s one person on the staff he trusts enough to be observant and suspicious it’s his Head of House.

Seeing that telling Regulus about the whole thing will most likely go over much better if he does it _before_ stealing the stone, he reluctantly resigns himself to wait it out and have faith in Snape.

* * *

At the beginning of December, their recently rather peaceful routine is interrupted when Theo receives a letter from his father.

They’re sitting at lunch after their last lesson on Friday when Theo’s eagle owl sweeps down on them, nearly knocking over Hadrian’s goblet of orange juice if not for Blaise’s quick reflexes.

Shortly after Theo opened the envelope, he pales, and his hands begin to tremble slightly.

“Are you alright, Theo?” Draco asks worriedly, a crease appearing between his brows.

Theo purses his lips and hands the parchment over to him silently.

Draco looks angrier by the minute, his mouth pressed into a tight line and his hands crumbling the side of the parchment between them, causing Hadrian to raise an eyebrow at the both of them when the other boy finished reading.

“Come on, let's go down to the training room,” Draco says in an undertone and Theo sends him a tight but grateful smile, while Daphne looks anxiously between the two of them.

Hadrian feels himself starting to worry as well, looking searchingly at Blaise who only shakes his head and gestures for them to follow out of the Great Hall.

Theo never talks about his home-life or his father in general, the only thing he ever mentioned about his time before Hogwarts was his tutoring or books from their library. Hadrian didn’t spare it too much thought, seeing as the other boy is a quiet character in general and only ever really gets invested in discussions about academical topics.

Thinking back on it now he supposes he maybe should have paid a little more attention to the way Draco, Blaise, and Daphne often avoid bringing up Theo’s home while talking about all of them visiting each other at their Manors.

As soon as they enter their room, Theo kicks a chair against the opposite wall, causing Daphne to quickly grab his wrist and pull him down beside her onto a sofa on the left wall. She puts her arm around his shoulder and Theo’s whole posture slumps while he closes his eyes, exhaling heavily.

They’re all silent for a few moments and Hadrian feels vaguely out of place, not knowing how to offer any form of comfort or what’s even going on. The fact alone that Theo of all people kicked a chair against a wall increases his worry tenfold, he never saw even the slightest slip in his calm composure.

Finally, Theo gestures towards Draco, obviously unwilling to speak. He keeps to leaning against Daphne and looks utterly miserable, his jaw clenched, and brows furrowed, with his hands balled into fists in his lap and still slightly trembling.

Draco directs a fairly uncomfortable look in Hadrian’s direction, but then he sighs and plops down on one of the still-standing chairs opposite from Theo and Daphne, gesturing for him and Blaise to do the same.

They take the second sofa to Draco’s right, a bit of dust dancing in the air between all of them after they both threw themselves rather gracelessly onto it.

“Theo's father told him to cut off all contact with you because you're a Half-blood and he doesn't care if... the rest of us associates with you. A Nott simply doesn't fraternise with 'your kind', no matter your standing.” Draco hesitates, before pushing on, “That you rescued Granger doesn't help matters either, his words not mine. Apparently, Lord Nott just found out that Theo is close to you and _suggested_ that he changes that fact immediately. He wrote that he even contacted Snape about changing dorms, but he refused, so yeah...”

Hadrian props his elbows on his knees and massages his temples, uncertain what he should say to that. He can feel anger buzzing under his skin, but it’s more on Theos behalf than his own. It’s insulting, of course, but he expected way more problems regarding his blood-status than he encountered yet, and while that doesn't mean that he’s going to accept that kind of disregard from anyone, he couldn't care less what Lord Nott thinks of him.

“I'm sorry,” Theo’s thick voice brings him back to the present and he smiles crookedly at him.

“Don't be, it's not your fault. It's as if I would say sorry for causing you problems with your father.”

Theo smiles bitterly and shakes his head. “You know I don't think of you like that, right?”

Hadrian’s expression softens and he falls back against the backrest, liberating another faint cloud of dust. “Of course, I do, really, don't worry. We just need to think of a way to let your father believe that you're listening to him, so you don't get in trouble.”

He can take a guess about the way Lord Nott treats his son, by the way the rest of their group reacted to the whole ordeal and his belated observations, and he really doesn't want to be the reason for Theo to suffer in any way.

“You don't have to do that, I understand if -”

“Don't finish that sentence. We're friends, and it's not your fault. While I'd like to tell your father exactly where he can shove it, I understand that it's not that easy, and if that means that we can only hang out with each other here or in our dorm, then so be it. It sucks, and I hate it, especially considering that it'll probably be worse for you, but I won't resent you for it,” he says forcefully, needing Theo to understand that he doesn't blame him for his father’s mistakes.

The fact that it’ll be worse for Theo only furthers his anger. The rest of Slytherin will see it as a decline in his standing, thanks to the gossip-circles of the Purebloods Hadrian won’t be able to say much about that without it reaching his father. He’ll have to sit away from them at meals, and while they have this room and their dorm, they can't suddenly disappear more often without eventually raising suspicion.

“I'll keep sitting with you at meals and in the common room,” Daphne says determinedly, squeezing Theos shoulder.

Blaise and Draco instantly nod, the former adding teasingly: “Of course, don't think we'll all abandon you now. You don't get rid of us that easily.”

“No. I won't pull you into this, if you sit with me at meals it will either damage your own reputations or cause a whole lot of trouble in the ranks of the lower years, absolutely not. I'm glad if we keep studying together and split up for being in the library for example, but I won't die just because I'll have to sit with the other first years in the Great Hall.”

Draco looks like he wants to protest but clicks his mouth shut after a look from Theo and huffs. “I don't get it, really, not even my father has such a problem with Hadrian.”

“Yes, but that's because your mother is a Black and I actually live with the Head of her family, putting your father in a bit more precarious position should he attempt something like that.” Hadrian sighs, rolling his eyes at the whole drama.

Daphne’s eyes are defiant as well and he suspects she won't care much about Theos protest. He smiles at her gratefully and she inclines her head, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“Maybe Lord Nott realises at the Yule Gala that it's not the smartest move,” Blaise speaks up, a smirk passing over his aristocratic features.

“What do you mean?” Daphne asks with furrowed brows and Blaise’s smirk widens into a sly grin while he crosses an ankle over his knee.

“Well, if I remember correctly Hadrian here will get introduced to the whole Black-clan over the holidays, and seeing that the ball will be at Malfoy Manor I have no doubt that _all of them_ will be there and unamused about an insult to their heir.”

“Let's wait with feeling smug until we know if they don't have a similar opinion about me,” Hadrian mutters, throwing Blaise a look that tells him to please not discuss this now.

His anticipation about the visit of the Blacks is rising steadily the closer they get to the holidays. Regulus tried to be reassuring in his letters, but 'If they misbehave, I throw them out' isn't the most calming statement as far as he’s concerned.

Like with Lord Nott, he doesn't care much what they personally think about him, he knows he can keep up with any Pureblood, but he doesn't want to be the cause for a rift between Regulus and his family – the family whose motto is 'Toujours Pur', for Merlin’s sake. While there _could_ be more than one way to interpret that, he doubts it would be anything but the obvious.

He gets along well enough with the portraits at Grimmauld Place, after some reservations at the start they simply kept to ignoring his blood-status, but still living people feel like a different thing, all things considered.

“I'm sure it will be alright. Well, Grandfather Cygnus and Grandmother Druella are a bit stuck up and I haven't met the other three, but mother always says that her parents are the worst of the lot, only rivalled by Walburga,” Draco says dismissively, causing him to smile tightly.

“Just don't insult Theo’s father yourself, ” Blaise says, obviously wanting to get away from the subject of the Blacks again while grimacing apologetically towards him.

“I mean, if he insults you first, I don't care, that’s on him then, but you know...” Theo adds, looking vaguely alarmed at the idea of a Hadrian confronting his father.

“Don't worry, I'm not planning to, especially considering that it would kind of work against our attempt to let him believe we're not friends anymore,” he shrugs. He can think of a lot of things he wants to tell Theo’s father but not for the price of Theo taking the brunt of it.

The boy in question sighs, lips curling into a sneer and staring angrily at the floor in front of him. “I fucking hate this. I should have expected it, but I still hate it.”

It’s a very rare thing that he curses, and it sums up the whole situation rather well.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks!! <3  
> I hope you enjoy it! :)

The two weeks before the end of term prove to be taxing for all of them. Daphne sticks with Theo almost entirely, with Draco or Blaise occasionally joining them, basically splitting their time between Theo and Hadrian.

A few days after the letter arrived, Theo and Daphne have a loud fight in the common room because she ignores all his protests and sits with him during most of the meals.

Both of them are terribly stubborn. Theo tries to convince her to stop supporting him so openly, saying that he doesn't want any rumours to spread about her, or for her standing to suffer.

She insists that she doesn't care about the bloody hierarchy, he’s her best friend since they could walk, and she’ll only stop sitting with him if he outright tells her that he wouldn't do the same for her.

Daphne stands like a statue, with her arms crossed and her chin jutted out, nothing but resolve and the dare to contradict her burning in her eyes.

Theo, on the other hand, runs his hands through his hair and grinds his teeth together, and when a second-year asks if they could tone it down a bit, Theo instantly throws a hex at him that blows the poor boy into the wall.

Hadrian learned over these days that, while Theo normally is calm, introverted and bookish, and it normally takes a lot to really make him angry, _if_ he reaches his breaking point he blows up without any warning.

Contrary to Draco’s temper, who easily jumps to insults and threats he rarely follows through with, Theo is more the type to hex first and talk later.

While Theo tries to hide it, his friends can see that their forced separation and the worry about going home is taking its toll on him. He now often stays up longer than Hadrian, who’s usually the last one to turn off his lights and is up already when he and Blaise stumble out of bed. He constantly looks pale and tense, and he snapped so often at Pansy, Tracey, Millie, Greg, and Vince that they stopped to even try talking to him.

He sometimes snaps at them as well, when they’re in their room for an hour in the evenings or staying in their dorm, but unlike with the other first years, he always apologises afterwards.

Hadrian hates to see him suffer like this and being unable to do much about it. The only thing he _can_ do is telling the other three that it really is alright if they stay with Theo and no, he doesn't take it personally in any way, and to make the best of the little time they all have together, hidden away from prying eyes.

But Theo would only accept so much. It’s obvious that he feels horrible about his father’s insults towards Hadrian, no matter how often he tells him that he doesn't blame him, and he refuses to be the reason that the other four don't get to spend any time together.

Not even Daphne with her stubbornness can do much when Theo simply disappears for hours, even if she rants to all of them about it at length.

Blaise keeps Hadrian company most frequently, like Daphne with Theo refusing to leave him alone. Seeing that he wasn’t as close to Theo as Draco and Daphne before Hogwarts and gets along best with Hadrian, it makes sense.

They work it all out somehow, carefully carving out time and space for all of them to forget about the whole drama, with the occasional help from Snape. Their Head of House tends to look the other way and started to make casual comments to Hadrian during their private meetings about the times and places the prefects make their rounds.

But overall, it’s a tiring exercise, and all five of them are constantly on edge.

* * *

A few days before the start of the holidays, Hadrian shakes off his friends and asks Death to guide him to the hiding place the Horcrux. He doesn't like the fact that he has to do this while Voldemort resides in the school, but he would be even more uncomfortable with leaving the thing here for longer than necessary.

The only reason he didn't collect it already is that he wants to spend as little time as possible with such a dark artefact in his possession. While the chance of discovery is low, with the wards on his trunk and the fact that nobody checks their luggage, he still prefers to not take any chances at all.

It would be enough if Voldemort decides to check on his soul-piece, and discovers it’s gone. He has no doubt that the man would attempt to turn the whole castle inside out, whether it’s the rational thing to do or not, consequences be damned.

If that happens, he would feel much better if the bloody thing is already out of the school, with no way to track the disappearance back to him. Maybe the Black paranoia is slowly coming through, but he simply doesn't care.

He feels utterly stupid while walking back and forth in front of a wall, concealed under his Invisibility Cloak, thinking ' _I need the room of hidden things'_ , but Death has yet to mislead him and indeed, shortly afterwards a wooden door appears.

He sweeps another glance up and down the corridor, making sure nobody sees him, and quickly slips inside.

He instantly freezes in his tracks upon seeing the endless towers of _stuff._ There’s no other word for it, really.

Mountains of discarded chairs and tables, wardrobes, mirrors, clothes, books and knick-knacks, old trunks and blackboards, cauldrons, prank articles and cutlery – it’s a mess of everything you could possibly find in this school, and there’s no end to it.

Against all hope he slips his wand into his hand and casts an “Accio Horcrux,” but just as he expected, absolutely nothing happens. To be honest, he would’ve been slightly disappointed with Voldemort if it had been this easy.

Groaning, he slumps back against the closed door behind him and hisses through clenched teeth: “Death!”

The being appears in front of him, causing Hadrian to smile a little. He has seen him so rarely in person since arriving at Hogwarts, but then he remembers his exasperation.

Gesturing widely towards the cathedral of a room he says dryly: “Tell me again, I'm looking for a _diadem._ In tons of what, _stuff?!_ ”

“Nobody said that Tom wasn't good at hiding. I mean, he _did_ choose rather obvious places in general, but you know, they have a surprise at least. A _Riddle_ to solve, if you will.” Death shrugs, obviously getting way too much enjoyment out of Hadrian’s predicament.

Against his better judgement Hadrian snorts and shakes his head, “Please, never try to make a pun again. Besides, did you think of the possibility that it might take me _months_ to go through all of this?” He scowls at the room again, calculating if finding the piece of jewellery before the end of first year is realistic.

“Oh, little one, you insult me!” Death exclaims dramatically and he pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping that he might just wake up and this is all a very weird dream.

The sound of stones grating against each other echoes through the room, indicating that his eternal companion is laughing at him. “You forget the tiny little fact that, as Death, I am able to find souls anywhere. This, fortunately, includes those that are as mutilated as Tom’s. You didn't think I knew about the hideouts of his Horcruxes because I watched the fool for years, did you?”

His head jerks up, relief coursing through him and he mutters: “You know, you could have started with that. Spared me your frankly horrible attempt at a joke and all that.”

“That I could have done, but where would be the fun in that? Besides, you could have thought of that yourself, oh prodigious child.”

Grumbling a “fair enough,” he straightens up and nods into the general direction of the room. “Shall we get going, then?”

Death inclines his head and walks into one of the aisles. “You should thank me, by the way. If I didn't isolate the piece of his soul inside you and guarded your mind, you'd be able to feel the other Horcrux as well when you get closer, and you'd also be prone to it influencing you.”

Hadrian winces at the thought. He has come to terms with being a Horcrux as well as could be expected, but the idea of getting unwillingly affected by _anyone_ makes his skin crawl. Not to mention that the three percent of soul residing in the diadem are unlikely to be any kind of _positive_ influence.

“Thank you, really. I even forgive the pun for that,” he nods towards Death, who only shakes his head.

They walk for at least 10 minutes through narrow, dusty aisles and Hadrian lets his gaze wander over all the stuff that accumulated here over decades, if not centuries. Despite the chaos there are most likely a few treasures hidden, he can feel magic radiating from different spots, and he resolves to spend some time looking for books and trinkets after the end of this year. He'd do it earlier, but he thinks it might be wiser to avoid the seventh-floor corridor altogether as long as Voldemort is still here.

“What do you think made him hide it here of all places? I mean I get it, the room isn't easy to find, but obviously, enough students did over the years. And while it's unlikely, there remains a small chance of someone stumbling across it or finding out about his Horcruxes and look for it,” he asks Death absent-mindedly while trailing a hand over an old, broken piano. It makes him smile softly, reminding him of Regulus and that he’ll be home in a few days.

“I don't know, and frankly I don't care much either. Searching for logic in insanity is a futile task, little one. I suppose when he created the diadem, he thought of himself as so superior to everyone else that he didn't consider your points. And maybe he wanted to spite Dumbledore, hiding the thing beneath his nose. That I could understand, at least, if there weren't better places even inside the school,” Death says, coming to a halt in front of a bureau with an ugly bust and a lot of smaller stuff on top of it.

“You have a point I suppose. And there are easier ways to spite Dumbledore, seriously,” he wrinkles his nose, wondering once again how a person with a brilliant mind as Tom Riddle’s, went down such an utterly foolish and imbecilic path.

Shaking his head to get rid of that line of thinking as it would lead him nowhere, he turns his attention towards the bureau Death is still looking at.

Towards the back, between a pile of books, a few potion vials, and some other jewellery, lies the diadem. Like it’s just another lost trinket among hundreds.

A quote from a Sherlock Holmes book springs to the forefront of his mind, ' _The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes'_ , and he smirks at the mental image of Voldemort’s reaction to having his methods compared to a fictional Muggle detective.

Carefully picking up the long-lost relic, he runs his finger over the engraving. “Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,” absent-mindedly noticing that it’s warm to his touch and humming slightly.

“A bit ironic if you ask me,” Death grumbles under his non-existent breath, earning him a fond look of exasperation from Hadrian.

“I get it, he's an idiot. Let's move on to something new?” he drawls with a raised brow.

Death gives a long-suffering sigh, like waves crashing against cliffs and shattering wood. “Always so demanding, you ungrateful little imp,” he admonishes while cuffing him over the head, sending a familiar chill down his spine.

He only now realises that he missed the comfort of the cold Death emanates with his touch, reminding him of safety and solace and _home_.

Smiling softly, he says: “Well, I learned from the best, didn't I?” far more seriously than their previous banter has been.

Death seems to pick up on his change of mood and wordlessly keeps his bony hand on Hadrian’s shoulder while they walk back to the door.

* * *

On the day of their departure, Hadrian is making his way out of the castle together with Blaise, when Death suddenly starts laughing so loudly in his head that he can't hear anything around him and stumbles slightly.

Confused, he looks around, until his eyes land on Quirrell, running over the snow-covered lawn with snowballs hitting the back of his head.

It doesn't really explain Death’s sudden hilarity, he doubts that a prank on his Defence Professor would be enough for that, even when said man is possessed by Voldemort.

Finally, his companion gets a hold of himself, still snickering and on the edge of giving Hadrian a headache. “You know, I never told you that because of the lasting possession, Tom’s face is on the back of Quirrell’s head. It's the reason he's always wearing a turban.”

Hadrian’s mouth falls open, and after a few seconds to comprehend what he has just been told and getting over his first reaction of revulsion, he breaks out into uncontrollable laughter, imagining the outrage and indignation the feared Dark Lord is most likely experiencing right now, while he’s unable to do anything about it.

Soon tears are streaming down his face, stinging his skin in the freezing winter air, and he has to hold onto Blaise to stay upright, who’s looking at him like he finally lost his mind. Every attempt to calm himself down fails, new waves of hysterical laughter crashing over him while unable to share this masterful joke with anyone.

It takes him much longer than he cares to admit to finally pull himself back together, the muscles in his stomach hurt and Blaise asked more than once if he’s alright, and what in Salazar’s name is this funny.

While scrambling to find an explanation, he catches sight of two redheads watching him with self-satisfied, matching grins on their identical faces, giving him a clue to who’s responsible for this absolutely amazing idea. Not that they know what they just did, but still.

“I'm sorry I just – the snowballs hitting Quirrell, it's kind of a childhood joke... Please, just forget it, okay?” he finally says to Blaise, shaking his head and knowing that this is one of the worst lies he told in years.

The other boy doesn't look convinced at all, but apparently decides not to push, only shaking his head and gesturing impatiently towards the carriages.

He sends another grin at the twins who he recognises as 3rd year Weasleys, before following Blaise, ignoring all the stares he receives for losing his composure so thoroughly.

* * *

The train ride passes uneventfully, he shares a compartment with Blaise and Neville while Draco and Daphne stay with Theo. They play a few rounds of chess and exploding snap, and otherwise mostly read or sleep.

When they finally pull into Kings Cross, they’re amongst the first students getting out. He quickly scans the platform until his eyes find Regulus standing to the side, together with a tall blonde woman and an equally tall and blonde man, unmistakably Draco’s parents. Another tall woman stands next to them and her dark skin and refined features lead him to the conclusion that it has to be Blaise's mother.

After saying a quick goodbye to Neville, who doesn't look nearly as enthusiastic as Hadrian feels about getting home, he and Blaise make their way over to the little group, who by now spotted them as well.

“Hey kiddo, how was your train ride?” Regulus greets him warmly and he can't contain the broad smile stretching over his face.

“As well as can be expected I suppose,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. He personally thinks it would be better to give them the choice of using the floo or getting picked up by someone who could side-along them, but he resigned himself to the fact that he has to endure the tedious, long ride for the next seven years.

Regulus smiles knowingly at him before turning to his companions. “This are Lord and Lady Malfoy and Lady Zabini, by the way.”

The latter currently talks in quick Italian with Blaise, most likely thinking that nobody except her son would understand her fussing, and he flashes a teasing smirk at Blaise, who only rolls his eyes at him.

Hadrian bows his head towards the other two adults. “Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, a pleasure to meet you.”

Draco’s father inclines his head only slightly, his face blank but obviously observing him attentively, while his wife smiles warmly and says: “Heir Potter-Black, the pleasure is all mine. And please call me Narcissa, we're family, after all.”

He smiles back at her, absent-mindedly turning the Black-ring on his finger. “Then you'll have to call me Hadrian, please.”

She beams in response before she looks past him and slightly furrows her brows. “I would have expected you two to have Draco with you, do you know where he's off to?”

She hides it well, but it’s obvious that she can't wait to see her son. He doesn't know if Draco already wrote to his parents about Lord Nott’s 'instructions' to his son, he himself skipped that in his letters home, preferring to talk to Regulus in person about it.

“I suppose he's with Theo,” Blaise speaks up before him, his mother apparently satisfied with her assessment of her son.

The woman in question turns towards them now, her sharp eyes scrutinising him for a few seconds before a smile curls on her lips and she nods at him.

“It's nice to meet you, Heir Potter-Black. My son talks a lot about you in his letters,” she says in a velvety soft voice, with only the slightest accent.

“Buon giorno Lady Zabini. Grazie, altrettanto. I hope he's only writing about the good things,” he answers in Italian, with an amused smile towards Blaise.

Her eyes light up at his use of the language, and she quickly ropes him into a conversation about how he learned to speak fluently, while the Malfoys watch slightly bewildered, and Regulus in fond amusement.

After another 10 minutes, Draco finally finds his way towards them, breaking up Ms. Zabini's current interrogation over his time at school.

While Narcissa fusses over her son, Lord Malfoy turns towards him and drawls with a raised brow: “May I ask why you decided to learn Italian? I would think that, as the Black heir, French would be the first choice.”

It’s a rather badly veiled dig at him, and he can see Regulus narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips behind the Malfoy Lord, but he only smirks faintly, “Of course. Like I just explained to Lady Zabini, after I learned Latin the other Romanic languages were rather easy, and I didn't want to limit myself to only one of them.”

The mentioned woman laughs while Lord Malfoy looks like he swallowed something sour.

Before he can come up with something else though, Narcissa turns her attention back towards the group, to the obvious relief of a slightly flushed Draco. “I think we should get going, I'm sure the boys want to get home after the long train ride.”

They all agree, and after saying their goodbyes and making promises to write, Regulus apparates them into the foyer of Grimmauld Place.

He takes a moment to let the feeling of being _home_ sink in, until Regulus pulls him wordlessly into a hug, burying his nose in Hadrian’s hair. He squeezes him just as tightly, taking in the familiar smell and already losing some of the tension that follows him around constantly at Hogwarts.

The sound of Kreacher popping into the room breaks them out of their quiet reunion, and after disentangling himself he smiles at the excited elf.

“Young Master finally is home! Kreacher made young Masters favourites, he has!!” he exclaims in a higher voice than usual, and Hadrian’s grin widens, touched that even the stoic elf is so glad to see him.

“Thank you Kreacher, that's terribly nice of you. Let me freshen up a bit and then I'll come to the kitchen, alright?” he says and the elf nods enthusiastically, his big ears flopping around his head.

Regulus goes ahead while he quickly makes his way towards his room. He sighs contentedly upon entering and lets his gaze travel through it, just standing in the doorway for a few moments.

He lets Atana uncurl from his forearm onto his bed, and after she resized herself, hits her with another warming charm, then puts away his trunk and quickly washes his hands and face.

Walking back downstairs he greets a few of the portraits in passing and smiles softly at the fact that everything is the same as he left it 3 months ago.

After they indulged in the feast Kreacher prepared, they retire to their usual sofa in the library, the familiarity of it all making warmth curl through him.

“So, when are the Blacks arriving?” he asks after they sat in silence for a long time, leaning against each other.

“On the 21st so we have a week of free time before the madness begins. Well, I'm sure Sirius and Remus would like to see you, but the rest of the madness at least, ” Regulus says while absent-mindedly running his fingers through Hadrian’s hair.

“Is Sirius still in Mungo’s?” he asks, leaning a bit more into the soothing touch.

“Yes, but he's allowed to leave over Yule. He whined about spending it with the rest of the family, but I convinced him eventually to attend the dinner.” Regulus’ tone betrays his annoyance and he can only guess that it has been a long discussion.

He snorts at the antics of his stubborn godfather, giving Regulus a sympathetic look. “We can visit over the week I suppose. Are they all going to stay here?”

Regulus sighs and nods, “Yes, or at least Arcturus, Cassiopeia, and Lucretia will, seeing that Cygnus and Druella live in Wiltshire they will only visit. I tried to convince them to stay at Black Manor, but Cassiopeia and Lucretia protested, arguing that we see each other so rarely, and I really didn't want to fight against those two. The house is big enough and it'll make Kreacher happy, so...” he shrugs, and Hadrian grins a little at the image of the usually headstrong wizard caving against his aunts.

He doesn't really mind, either way, he feels more comfortable in his own home anyway.

“Do you think they will be alright with me?” he asks lowly after a few minutes, fiddling with his wand and staring unseeingly into the fire.

“They'll better be,” Regulus scoffs, then looks at him and sighs softly. “I think the three of them that stay with us will be, once they get to know you. Cassiopeia and Lucretia are both rather moderate, Cassiopeia never married and travelled a lot, practicality defying expectations for women left and right, and Lucretia is just the typical grandmother-type. Arcturus is very regal, but he judges people more on their skills. He wasn't ecstatic when I told him, but considering you aren't a Muggleborn he won't mind all that much, just be your charming self.“

He hesitates and pulls him a bit closer. “I suppose Cygnus and Druella will be more annoying, but a lot of it stems from the fact that they were pissed that I got the title of Head of Family. There's a long-time jealousy from the side branch towards the main branch, and your appearance just cemented the fact that they won't get that title anytime soon, as they hoped when Draco was born.”

Hadrian groans and lets his head fall back against the sofa, sending him an exasperated look. “The whole thing is so ridiculous, honestly. Magic is magic and there are a lot of Half-bloods or Muggleborn more powerful than Purebloods. I get that there are some deeply ingrained issues, because of the witch hunts and the recent disregard for traditions, but you'd expect people to be intelligent enough to judge on the individual case instead of a rather unrelated issue like parentage.”

Regulus smiles ruefully, “I know Har, I know.” He pauses, obviously weighing his words, then asks with furrowed brows: “What brought this on? You weren't so worried about all this before the start of term. I understand that meeting the rest of the family might cause some concerns, but it's rather unlike you.”

He huffs, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and looks away. Might as well get this over with now. “Lord Nott wrote Theo and forbid him to be friends with me. We still hang out sometimes, but we need to hide it and it's grating on all our nerves. Blaise, Draco, and Daphne have to split their time between us, and it's just so ridiculous.”

He scowls, “I'm the top of the year, nobody in Slytherin dares to challenge my position, but _Lord Nott_ , whose family is barely allowed to stay in Pureblood society, doesn't deem me good enough for his son.”

He can see the anger clouding Regulus’ face, eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched. He takes a few deep breaths before grounding out: “That bastard. We'll see at the New Year gala if he's so sure of himself.”

It warms his heart to see Regulus so angry on his behalf, but he sighs and shakes his head, “I'm not completely sure, but I think he's kind of abusive towards Theo, and I don't want him to suffer any repercussions because of me. I mean if he approaches me first it's different, but I don't want to give him any reason to think that Theo didn't follow his orders willingly.”

Regulus grimaces and there are too many different emotions in his eyes for him to decipher but thinking back on the few things he knows about the childhood in the Black home, he can guess what he’s thinking.

Seeing that the mood is already low anyway, he decides that it’s probably best to share the remaining bad news now as well.

“I need to tell you something else,” he says hesitantly, sitting up a bit straighter and turning to face Regulus directly, effectively pulling out of his arm.

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him, looking apprehensive.

He clasps his hands in his lap and wrinkles his nose, pondering how to start this, but finally decides that a direct approach is probably the easiest.

“You see, Dumbledore-” he doesn't get further. Regulus groans and lets his head fall into his hands, murmuring: “This can't be anything good.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “It isn't. You know what the Philosophers Stone is?”

Regulus' head flies back up and he stares at him with wide eyes. “Yes...?!”

“Well, Dumbledore convinced Flamel to lend him the stone, to lure Voldemort out of hiding. I doubt he told him that he wants to lure him to Hogwarts though, to see if I would do something to stop Voldemort from stealing it.”

Regulus face is already stony and his eyes blazing with barely concealed fury, but there’s nothing for it. “Now, the problem is that Voldemort already _is_ at Hogwarts, possessing Quirrell -”

“No. Fucking no, you can't be serious!” Regulus snarls, jumping up and pacing in front of the fire.

“I wish I wasn't. The stone is secured with a number of protections that are utterly ridiculous. Death says that Dumbledore is unaware of Voldemort being at the school, and the latter hasn't figured out the protections yet. I think it's the only reason why he didn't already try. He expects them to be designed to hold _him_ off, not that a first-year is supposed to get through them. The point is, sooner or later he'll figure it out and...” he stops, sending a look at Regulus' agitated state, before mumbling: “and I'm going to steal the stone before he gets there.”

Regulus freezes. “You _what?!_ ”

“Think about it,” he says, glad that Regulus is still listening and prone to rational thinking. “If Voldemort gets the stone, he resurrects himself in his insane state. If he gets exposed and has to flee without the stone, he still has a body and thus the possibility to find another way to resurrect himself. But if I steal the stone shortly before the holidays in April, his host will already be weakened, and it'll take some time until anybody realises the stone is gone.”

He sighs at the worry that’s written all over Regulus’ face, knowing the last part of it won’t help matters, either. “Maybe I'll let Atana bite Quirrell or something as well, I haven't figured that part out yet, but if Dumbledore keeps the stone, he'll most likely use it again. It needs to disappear. Besides, it would stabilize the ritual you have planned.”

Regulus groans and falls back onto the sofa next to him, one hand rubbing over his face and the other clenched in his hair. They’re silent for some time until he turns his head to look at Hadrian. “Tell me about the protections and your plan?”

He relaxes, relieved that Regulus understood quickly that there isn’t another solution to the whole dilemma.

He recites all the traps and his solutions, what Death told him and that the entity will put up additional wards for him to prevent discovery.

Regulus just listens, nodding from time to time or throwing in a question or addition that could help.

When he recounted every detail, he still looks angry, but it’s more resigned acceptance than burning fury. “You're right, you would even get through most of that without being as advanced as you are. I can't believe Dumbledore presents Voldemort the opportunity to return on a silver platter. There are so many things that could go wrong, starting with the possibility that you don't even notice _when_ he attempts to steal the bloody thing.”

“Yeah, you'd believe he would at least be smart about it, wouldn't you? The only consolation is that Snape knows something is up with Quirrell and is watching him since Samhain,” he replies, leaning back against Regulus and closing his eyes.

Regulus instantly pulls him close, propping his own head atop his and mutters: “Can't you ask Severus to help you? I would sneak into school to do it myself, but I doubt the wards wouldn't notify Dumbledore.”

He shakes his head against Regulus’ shoulder, snorting, “Yeah, and how am I going to explain that I know all that, and why I need to steal the stone? 'Oh, hey Snape, want to help me commit a serious crime? Regulus and I want to resurrect the Dark Lord, so he's not as insane as he was before, by the way, I'm also going to kill Quirrell.' That'll go over well.”

Regulus huffs out a short laugh, “Fair enough I suppose. Just be careful, alright?”

"I will be, I promise," he mutters, suddenly exhausted.

He feels Regulus grin against the top of his head. "Well, I always wanted to have a look at the Philosophers Stone…" causing Hadrian to laugh. Leave it to Regulus to see the academic advantage to all of this. Not like he isn't curious himself, but still.

* * *

They fell asleep in the library and are both a bit cranky the next morning, but still decide to visit Sirius today. He wants to have a few days without any obligations before the Blacks arrive, and Remus is going to be there today as well, so it’s a good choice either way.

After an extensive breakfast and his first cup of coffee, he feels awake enough at last, and Regulus apparates them both to St. Mungo’s. During their walk to Sirius' room, uneasiness begins to set in, no doubt intensified by the caffeine. The still lingering awkwardness in their exchanged letters is still fresh on his mind, and he fears that it’ll be worse in person.

Regulus squeezes his shoulder in comfort, and he takes one last, calming breath before they knock and step into the room.

Remus already sits on one of the chairs by the coffee table, Sirius next to him, and both smile as soon as they enter.

His godfather looks worlds better than at the trial; gone is the gaunt and frail state, his hair is shorter and clean, and there can be no longer any doubt about him being Regulus' brother. Sirius is a bit smaller, his facial structure less sharp and the grey of his eyes a few shades lighter, but the resemblance is undeniable.

Hadrian smiles at both of them and quickly sits down on the sofa, hoping that it’ll keep any attempts of hugging at bay.

“Hey, you look much better than the last time I saw you,” he directs at Sirius, causing him to beam in response.

“I don't only look much better. How are you? Glad that you're finally on holidays?” he asks, his voice still a little gruff but laced with affection.

“Yes, it's really good to be home,” he smiles with a glance at Regulus, who sat down beside him. “How about you, Remus?” he adds towards the other man, who until now has only watched in silence.

He smiles softly, “I'm alright, I'm just happy that Sirius is doing fine.”

The two of them share a long look full of affection, causing Hadrian to raise a questioning eyebrow at Regulus who only grins knowingly and shakes his head.

Obviously realising that they got lost in their own world, Sirius clears his throat, smiles apologetically and says: “The Healers think I'll be able to leave at the start of next month. Remus already helped me to find a flat in London and I wanted to ask...” he trails off, fidgeting in his chair and biting his bottom lip.

Hadrian tenses and clenches his fingers into his robes, having a good idea where this is going. Regulus already told him that Sirius is going to offer him to move in. Apparently, Sirius asked him if he would be okay with it, and while Regulus knew that Hadrian doesn't want to, he thought it would be better if he told Sirius himself.

He understands where Regulus is coming from, but that doesn't mean he likes it or expected it to be the absolute first thing Sirius would come up with. Bloody Gryffindors.

“I know, you're most likely content with living with Regulus, but as I'm your godfather I wanted to offer it anyway, so if you like you could move in with me when your first year is over…?” His voice is hesitant, and his leg is jumping up and down, but his eyes are trained intently on Hadrian.

He averts his eyes for a few seconds, his brows furrowed and pondering how to decline this in the least hurtful way possible. Finally, he sighs and looks back at Sirius. “Thank you, really I appreciate it but I... I think I want to stay with Regulus. We're similar in a lot of ways, and I also don't want to move again. It's the first place that really feels like home, I think I would have a hard time to adjust. I'm sorry if that disappoints you...”

He clenches his jaw and looks down, unable to stand the hurt expression on Sirius' face. Regulus softly wraps his fingers around his wrist and he sends a small, grateful smile at him.

“Never thought anybody would call that dreary house a home,” Sirius mutters, causing Hadrian to frown again and swallow a biting remark. “Don't worry I'm not angry or judging you. I kind of expected it, we don't really know each other just... should you ever change your mind, don't hesitate to ask, alright?” he follows in a clearer voice, a forced smile on his lips.

He doubts that it will ever come to that, but he appreciates the sentiment nonetheless and nods, smiling at his still troubled looking godfather.

Sirius sits up a bit straighter, claps his hands together and says with forced cheerfulness: “Anyway, I had another idea I wanted to discuss with you two! About the Christmas dinner, I thought we could invite Remus as well?”

He feels Regulus tense beside him and raises a disbelieving eyebrow himself, while Remus groans, rubbing a hand over his face and says: “Sirius-” only to break off after the look he receives, holding up his hands in silent defeat.

“Siri, you know I would have no problem with inviting Remus, but you of all people know how some of them are, you can't honestly propose this. No offense Remus, but...” Regulus trails off, looking utterly uncomfortable.

“None taken, I told Sirius it's a bad idea,” he answers with an apologetic look.

Sirius only scoffs, his face scrunched up and his voice bitter. “I don't care if they mind, why the hell should we go along with what they want?!”

Regulus groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, saying with forced patience: “Sirius, this is the same old discussion we have since we are children, for Merlin’s sake. I agree with you that some of their opinions are bullshit, but you're not going to change them, I'm not going to change them, it will just end in a huge fight and Remus getting insulted to his face, do you honestly want to put him through that? They're going to be agitated enough about Har, especially Cygnus and Druella, do you really need to make it worse, just for the sake of provocation?!”

Sirius jumps up and starts to pace the room. “I don't understand why they have to come at all, you should keep them and everything they think as far away from my godson as possible!” He gesticulates wildly and is close to shouting towards the end.

“Sirius!” Remus says again, this time with a sharp edge to his voice, but he’s ignored.

“No, honestly! It's exactly the reason why I want Hadrian to move in with me, it's in no way an appropriate surrounding! This house, this family, this -”

“Stop!” Hadrian hisses with venom in his voice, standing up.

Sirius turns towards him, his angered face morphing into a baffled expression.

“Honestly, do you listen to yourself?! You don't get to turn up and make accusations out of nowhere, not to mention that I'm more than able to look after myself! I just told you 5 minutes ago that I'm perfectly content where I am, and as a matter of fact I _want_ to meet the rest of the family,” he spits, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I'm well aware that not all of their opinions are without fault, but I can judge that for myself, you can't just, just talk over my _fucking_ head, for Salazar’s sake. I'm sure I have some opinions you wouldn't agree with either, and they don't come from Regulus but I formed them myself, so if you can't behave like the damn adult you're supposed to be, I suggest we cut this whole thing short now, before I just add to your disappointment,” he finishes coldly, eyes boring into Sirius', and daring him to say just one more word against Regulus.

When he stays silent, just gaping at him shocked and a little hurt, he turns towards Remus and says more softly: “I'm sorry you can't come, Remus. I would’ve liked to see you over Yule.”

Not waiting for an answer, he spins on his heel and leaves the room as quickly as possible without outright running, needing to get out of here before he really blows up. He knows that he might have overreacted a bit, but out of the few things that manage to seriously anger him, disrespecting Regulus is probably the safest way to achieve that.

He swiftly makes his way down the corridor and leans against the wall next to the elevator, his teeth grinding together, and his hands still clenched into fists. He’s itching to hex something or better _someone_ and takes a few, measured breaths to calm himself down.

It doesn't take long for Regulus to appear, and he only squeezes his shoulder silently, keeping his hand there until they reach the Apparition point in the foyer.

They stay silent until they arrive in the kitchen and both have a cup of coffee in front of them.

Regulus’ smile is teasing when he finally says: “I don't think I ever saw you blow up like that. If I didn't know already that you have some Black-blood I would suspect so now.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes, but a smile is tugging on his lips, “Well, he shouldn't have insinuated that you're a bad influence. I may have been on edge already anyway, but I meant what I said.”

Regulus’ smile turns softer then and he reaches over the table to ruffle his hair, earning him a mock glare. “My brother often speaks before he thinks, it's the Gryffindor I suppose. He'll calm down soon enough. What do you think, should we go flying for an hour or two after lunch?”

He perks up, aside from the rather boring flying lessons he didn’t have a chance to fly at Hogwarts and he longs for a good seekers match, not to mention to not any longer talk about his godfather.

Regulus only smirks knowingly, and after they had some sandwiches they floo over to Black Manor, effectively leaving the rather failed meeting behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many of you are waiting for the Black-reunion and originally I wanted to put it in this chapter, but everything before got longer than expected sooo I decided to split it. Next chapter, I promise! :)
> 
> Also, I know I said I won't include much from canon, but the twins hitting Voldy with snowballs is one of the most underrated moments of the whole series imo and I simply had to include it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews! <33

"That went well,” Remus says dryly when the door clicks shut behind Regulus. The younger Black quickly left after Hadrian, only muttering a short apology towards Remus and sending his brother an annoyed glare.

Remus could understand why they left. Sirius is probably one of the most blundering people he knows, and it shouldn't surprise him that his godson doesn’t take well to insults towards the person that saved him from an abusive home and cared for him ever since, even if it were indirect insults. At their first meeting, within the first 20 minutes.

Sirius huffs and falls back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and sending a glare towards him. “I didn't mean to... I didn't mean it like _that_ ,” he says, gesturing vaguely into the direction of the door.

Remus props his elbows on his knees and rubs his temples. “You never 'mean it like that,' Padfoot, but you also never think before you speak. Not to mention that it was pretty difficult to understand it any differently than they did.”

Sirius groans and lets his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. “I just don't understand him. How can anyone want to meet that family? How can they just ignore the views those people have?”

He sighs and leans back, “I don't think it's ignorance, it's more a choice of which battles are worth it, and which aren't. As for your family, why shouldn't he want to meet them? Should he just take your word for it and avoid them for the rest of his, or well, their lives?”

He sees Sirius’ petulant expression but keeps talking before he can be interrupted. “They're his family now as well, and I doubt that Regulus would’ve invited them if he thought that all they’re going to do is slander Hadrian, it's obvious that he cares about him. Besides, _you_ were the one to make him your heir in the first place, so your argument is a bit inconsistent anyway.”

Sirius grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes well, I thought I was disowned and that he'd grow up between all of _us_. This attitude of 'pick your battles' is such a Regulus thing to do.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Sirius!” Remus growls, his own patience wearing thin. “You're not 20 anymore, Hadrian isn't James, and picking your battles is not the worst thing you can do. What's next, are you going on a rant about him being a Slytherin? Because if you don't pull yourself together and accept him for who he _is_ , not who you _want him_ to be, you should just give up on the whole godfather-thing altogether, this is not how it works. If you need to direct your anger about the fact that not everything turned out the way we would’ve liked it to, aim it at Dumbledore. Not at your brother who cared for your godson, or at your godson for not being like you expected him to be.”

Sirius slumps in his seat and buries his head in his hands. He instantly feels bad about his outburst at the pitiful image, but he knows that Sirius needs to hear and understand this, and who else would tell him?

Remus quickly noticed during his written exchange with Hadrian that the boy is incredibly smart and headstrong, and he doesn't doubt that he indeed forms his opinions himself. It also didn't escape his notice that Hadrian is very careful with voicing them, at least towards him, and most likely Sirius as well. To his own surprise, he doesn't worry all that much. He doesn't think that he’s prejudiced, not only would it be hypocritical, he also thinks him too rational for blatant blood-purism. But the thirst for knowledge and curiosity Hadrian displays leads him to believe that he might not condemn dark magic or traditions on principle.

And what he said to Sirius is true – if there’s a person to be angry at, it’s Dumbledore. He still didn’t come to terms with the extent of betrayal and lies the man he once looked up to had spun, and the more he thinks about it, the more he’s convinced that what they know is only the tip of the iceberg, a thought that makes him feel sick.

They trusted so many wrong people in the past, and sometimes he wonders how he’s supposed to go on like this, how he can ever trust anyone again. It’s an ugly jumble of guilt, resentment, and disappointment, and the wolf is constantly scratching on the surface of his mind, ever since the trial demanding that he makes those that hurt his pack _pay._

Sirius exhales heavily and looks back up at him, wearing a miserable expression. “I really am an idiot, aren't I?”

Remus sighs, “I know you don't like to talk about it, but it's natural that your time in Azkaban didn't give you a good opportunity to mature. But I meant what I said, we're not 20 anymore, and those we put our trust in when we _were,_ betrayed us. So besides the fact that you need to accept Hadrian as his own person, with his own mind and trust his judgement, something that you craved at that age more than anything might I add, maybe you should invest some time to overthink your own mindset.”

He hesitates, uncertain if it would be smart to speak the remaining thoughts on his mind. But there’s nothing for it, and for once Sirius looks like he’s listening and thinking about what he’s saying, so he straightens up and pushes on: “Your biggest problem with your family has always been your parents, and you denounced everything connected to them by default. Regulus, the rest of your family, their views – without ever trying to get to the bottom of the reasons or motivations behind them.”

Sirius furrows his brows and tilts his head, a gesture vaguely resembling his Animagus form. Remus suppresses his smile and adds: “If you want to have a chance at building a good relationship with Hadrian, you also need to get a hang on your temper. I know you'll never be a mild, controlled person, and I don't want you to be, nor am I telling you to change who you are. But you got to respect that Regulus and Hadrian are close and that you're only going to push them both away if you try to come between them.”

They fall into silence when he’s finished, Sirius looks pensive while fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. “I suppose you're right. It's just difficult to accept all that, it's like everything is turning upside down. I mean, in Azkaban I was aware that Dumbledore deserted me, but somehow, it's all just becoming real and I'm afraid that, if I start to question everything I thought I knew, I... I'll lose myself even more.” His voice turns quiet at the end and his eyes are troubled and desperate.

Remus smiles softly but is unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I know what you mean, it's all too much to wrap your head around. You always lashed out when pressured. But you're not alone in this, you know?”

Sirius averts his eyes, and too many emotions flitting over his face. After a few minutes, he asks in a tight tone: “Do you think they'll forgive me?”

“Give them some time to calm down and then apologise. To both of them. And for Merlin’s sake, get your priorities straight,” he answers, then stands up and walks over to him, squeezing his shoulder.

Sirius leans against him and closes his eyes, staying silent for another few moments until he mutters: “Thanks Moony, for setting my head straight. But I still don't want to go to that blasted dinner.”

Remus groans and closes his eyes, praying for patience or a miracle. The only reason he let Sirius ask about him coming along at all, has been the hope that he could attempt to contain some of his temper; the burning dread that Sirius is going to blow up not leaving him ever since he heard about the Blacks visiting.

He understands why Regulus disagreed though, if he’s honest he’s glad that he did because he _really_ doesn't want to go and doubts that he would’ve much of a chance to control Sirius anyway.

“You'll survive, just for once try to think before you speak,” he finally says exasperated, tugging at a strand of Sirius' hair. His only response is an incomprehensive grumble and he mentally resigns himself to at least a ton of complaints before and afterwards.

* * *

Hadrian finished all of his homework during the first two days of the holidays, and the following week is spent between him and Regulus, catching each other up on the things they didn't already write about and falling back into the routine they developed before he went to Hogwarts.

He notices only now how much strength it costs him to keep up his constant pretences at school, and how far he has come with Regulus to be so comfortable without any of them. Of course, having Dumbledore _and_ Voldemort in his immediate vicinity doesn't lessen the pressure, nor does the fact that he still hides a lot of things from his friends. While he already likes and values them immensely, he doesn't trust them enough yet to let them in on any of his more serious secrets, and the constant caution he has to practise inevitably keeps a distance between them.

So he treasures the time with Regulus more than anything. They don't need to do anything special or even talk much, just sitting in the library reading, duelling or flying settle and calm him notably.

Kreacher, on the other hand, is going completely mad with cleaning and decorating the house. He’s muttering constantly under his breath about the whole, noble family coming to visit, and no matter what Hadrian or Regulus say, nothing can stop the elf. It amuses both of them that, in his urgency to please the family, the elf started to disregard their orders. Not directly of course, and they both let him have his fun, but the amount of discussions about necessary deeds is immense.

Regulus suggested at some point to call in some of the elves from Black Manor, which sent Kreacher in such a fit that they had to go out into Muggle London for dinner. It would’ve been more amusing if it wouldn't have fuelled their rising nerves as well.

He exchanges a few letters with Blaise, Draco, and Daphne, and also receives one from Remus, who apologises for Sirius. He writes him back that he has no reason to be sorry, once again telling him that he’s sorry that he can't attend the Yule dinner and that he hopes that there wasn’t too much trouble with calming Sirius down after their rather abrupt exit.

His godfather writes him as well, apologising for his behaviour at the hospital and asking to meet once more before Yule to talk to both of them, but he declines. While his anger has cooled down, he needs the remaining time to recharge. No matter how sorry Sirius might be, and he suspects that Remus has a hand in the sudden change of attitude, the discussion would break up his week of peace that is already shorter than he would have liked.

He doesn't hear from Theo, but he expected that. He still worries anyway, especially because only Daphne received a short letter, stating that everything is fine and that they'll see each other at the Malfoy gala. None of them finds that to be very reassuring, but there’s not much they can do about it.

* * *

In the end, the 21st comes way too soon for Hadrian’s liking.

On the one hand, he’s excited to meet all of them. The Blacks are notorious, and he feels a strong connection to what he already knows about the family, more so than to any other house he descends from. He also possesses enough confidence to not feel outright intimidated and to be sure that his personality and skills align well with theirs. Alright, and he can't wait to benefit from the combined knowledge and experience the elder generation is bound to have at their fingertips

On the other hand, he doesn't fancy getting into any disputes over his blood-status, especially because they’re going to live in his home for two weeks. If he gets insulted, he won't keep his head down just for the sake of it, and he knows that Regulus doesn't expect him to, would even kick them out himself if they overstep too much. The last bit gets him close to choking on his emotions more than once. But he also knows that family means a great deal to Regulus, and it would be a harsh blow for him if he has to choose.

The fact that their opinion of him is at least partially out of his control, no matter what kind of impression he makes, leads to him standing in the parlour of Grimmauld Place now with his hands a little clammy and his heart beating too fast. As he hardly ever cares about others' acceptance, the nervousness makes for a foreign experience, and he doesn't like it one bit.

He’s kind of glad now that Atana refused to stay in his room and that they struck up the compromise that she has to stay in her smaller form, curled around his shoulders like a comforting weight.

When the floo flared green he straightens up, receiving one last, encouraging smile from Regulus who doesn't look much calmer than he feels. Their three guests scheduled their Portkeys from France and Italy to arrive at the same time, and when all of a sudden the image pops up in his mind of how awkward it would be to address them all with the same surname, he mentally thanks Regulus for telling him beforehand that he’s expected to call them by their first names.

A woman as tall as Regulus steps through the flames, thankfully halting the weird wandering of his thoughts. She looks regal and utterly beautiful. Long, jet-black hair falls in wavy curls to her waist, accentuating her sharp, aristocratic features and her intense grey eyes, that are so indicative for the Blacks.

She steps away from the hearth and is quickly followed by a second woman, who’s half a head smaller than her. She has a softer face and a few grey strands shimmer in her plait, making her appear more approachable. Hadrian can tell that this is Lucretia and the first one has to be Cassiopeia. Even if there wouldn't be pictures on the family tapestry, their appearances fit the short description of personality Regulus gave him perfectly.

At last Arcturus arrives, even taller than Cassiopeia and looking much older than both of them. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, slightly greying at the temples, and a few deep lines are visible around his eyes and mouth. He carries a natural air of authority around him that is fortified by his sharp and assessing eyes.

“Arcturus, Cassiopeia, Lucretia, it's so good to see you,” Regulus says, stepping forward. He shakes the hand of his grandfather and kisses the other two on their cheeks, before turning around and gesturing towards where he still stands in the background, observing the formal but still fond welcome. “Please, meet Hadrian, the mysterious Black-heir,” he says with an amused smile and Hadrian only just keeps from rolling his eyes at Regulus dramatics, stepping forward and copying the greeting.

“It's nice to meet you all, I hope your trips went well?” he asks after stepping back, all eyes on him.

Lucretia smiles warmly and nods, while Cassiopeia examines him with a curious glint in her eyes, lingering for a moment on Atana, before she finally says: “Well, as well as Portkey-travel ever is.” She grimaces in obvious distaste but then smiles slyly. “You even look like a Black, a result of the blood of my dear sister and the blood-adoption, I'm sure. But I find myself intrigued, what prompted you to get a snake as a pet? It seems a bit overboard for simple house-pride,” she states with a raised brow and mirth dancing in her eyes. Hadrian instantly likes her.

Before he can answer, however, Arcturus clears his throat, pulling the attention back to him. He kept silent until now, observing everything with a neutral expression, and Hadrian is kind of impressed at how easily he fades into the background but commands the attention of the room as soon as he wants to.

“Maybe we can dispose of our luggage first and sit down for some tea before you two start with your interrogation?” he sends a pointed look at the two women. Lucretia answers with a sheepish smile while Cassiopeia simply rolls her eyes, but both nod and Regulus calls for Kreacher.

The elf is close to jumping up and down in excitement, talking faster and in a higher voice than usual. Regulus lets out a nearly inaudible sigh, but only orders him to take the luggage to the guestrooms and bring them tea, coffee, and scones into the drawing-room.

“So, your snake?” Cassiopeia prompts after they settled down, she and Lucretia flanking him on the sofa while Regulus and Arcturus took the armchairs.

“I'm a Parselmouth, and when I went to buy an owl a few years ago she begged, - well, more _demanded_ , that I get her out of there. She's my familiar,” he explains, stroking the scales of the snake fondly.

“A Parselmouth? If I'm not mistaken, and I rarely am, there aren't any known cases of them in the Potter or Black line,” Cassiopeia asks with furrowed brows, the other two looking just as intrigued.

“I suspect it comes from the Peverells’, they have a Slytherin connection somewhere,” he shrugs. He actually knows this for a fact, but it’s only due to Death and he can't explain that after all.

“The Peverell heir as well, my, you're practically royalty,” Cassiopeia smirks at him, then says: “What kind of breed is she?”

“Actually, I'm also the Heir of Gryffindor,” he smirks right back. “She's a Black Mamba, but a magical breed.”

“Isn't she a bit small for a Black Mamba?” she asks, raising her hand towards Atana and letting her flick her tongue against her hand.

“It's not her original size, she's shrunken down right now,” he explains, amused that his familiar pulls the most attention of all things. Atana preens at it, of course, commenting that she likes the 'dark woman.'

“Oh, can you resize her? When I travelled through West Africa, I came across a lot of magical tribes that use Parselmagic and have a close relationship with the different species of snakes there. They had a lot of her kind. I always wished I could speak it too, it's such an advantage,” she looks excited and Atana doesn't waste any time to regrow and instantly curl up in Cassiopeia’s lap. Who would’ve thought that she would be enough to win the stern-looking woman over?

While she’s gushing over Atana and he randomly translates some things, he interrogates her in return about her travels. She did a lot of those in her life and published a few books about different forms of magic and traditions in different parts of the world, giving him a clue to where Regulus got his own love for travelling from.

Occasionally Lucretia adds some of her own stories, as she took up that particular hobby after the last war herself when she’s not staying with Arcturus in France.

His first impression of Cassiopeia as likeable quickly proves to be true. She has a dry and witty humour, and her stories speak of strength and fearlessness. As a woman travelling alone since the 1940's she found herself more often in sticky situations than she can count, especially in the form of men wanting to take advantage of her. If she’s to be believed, and Hadrian wouldn't doubt it for a second, they always regretted it in the end. Moreover, her knowledge would make any scholar envious, but he realises within the first hour that it doesn't stop at theory. Here and there she slips in comments that indicate her having a _huge_ supply of blackmail material on many, _many_ people.

Lucretia faces those remarks with fond exasperation, revealing her overall softer nature and less cutting edges, but there’s no doubt that she’s an intelligent woman herself. Her general outlook is just vastly different, something that he understands much better after she told him that she worked as a Healer before her husband died, and still practices the art during her travels often. At first sight, one would expect the two women to clash, but they just complement each other, and he has forgotten all about his nerves when they sit down for dinner a few hours later.

While Arcturus spent the afternoon talking to Regulus, he now turns his attention towards him, apparently having picked up on his interest in history and languages. While he kind of neglected his pursuit of the latter over the last few years and mostly kept to the Romanic Languages, the current conversation about the connection between the two topics and their application to magic revives his resolve to get back to picking up more.

Arcturus is especially well-versed in runes and history, both closely interwoven with old languages in particular, and they spend most of the dinner in conversation over Ancient Egyptian culture and their runic rituals, which closely relates to many of the infamous curses they used for their gravesites. There isn't a question Arcturus doesn't have an answer to, rounded off with the occasional addition from Cassiopeia, and he can see that the man enjoys his interest in the topic just as much, even when he displays it less obvious than his cousin and daughter.

As far as first impressions go, it couldn't have gone over better, and while his head is spinning with all the things he learned within half a day, he’s more satisfied than after a week of classes at Hogwarts.

After everybody went to bed close to midnight, Regulus knocks on his door, smiling softly. It’s obvious how content he is with the outcome of the day, and with having the people of his family here he loves the most.

“I'm not going to stay long, Cassiopeia filled me up with way too much wine, I just wanted to make sure that you're really as fine as you appeared to be?” he asks, and now that he mentions it Hadrian notices the glassy look in his eyes and the slightly unsteady figure he makes.

Not bothering to hide his grin he nods, “Yes, they're fantastic. Just the right mix of intelligent and insane.”

Regulus laughs, walking over to his bed and pulling him into a hug. “I'm glad, kiddo. It's obvious they like you just as much.”

He smiles before pushing Regulus softly away, causing him to stumble a little. “Go to bed, you smell like a wine cellar. But get yourself a hangover potion out of the lab beforehand, I guess you'll need it.”

“One would think you're the adult in this room,” Regulus grumbles under his breath, but he’s grinning brightly and ruffles Hadrian’s hair, before slowly making his way out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him.

* * *

Obviously, Regulus listened to his advice because the next morning at breakfast none of the adults look worse for the wear. Or they just handle their alcohol well, who knew.

“So, I heard Sirius made a scene at your first meeting?” Cassiopeia asks casually, causing him to raise an eyebrow at Regulus. Not that he minds her knowing, he just didn't expect Regulus to willingly add fuel to the fire the Yule dinner is already bound to be.

“Oh, don't look at him like that kid, he didn't tell me,” she grins sharply, mirth dancing in her eyes.

He opens his mouth but then swallows his question. He doubts that she’ll answer him and earns an approving nod in return. “Don't ask me questions and I won't tell you lies.”

“Fair enough I suppose.” And it really is, seeing that he has a habit of keeping his own secrets close to his chest as well.

“About Sirius... Let's just say it's complicated. We're very different and I feel it's hard for him to accept that,” he adds, trying to keep it vague. If she heard about their fight, she probably knows what it was about, but there’s no need to repeat everything that has been said.

“Yes, that sounds like Sirius,” Lucretia says, a wistful note to her voice. “What I'd like to know though is how you two got the incentive to demand a trial in the first place, and what in Merlin’s name did Albus Dumbledore have to do with all of this?!” she adds as an afterthought, a certain amount of anger on her face that erases all traces of the kindness she portrayed until now.

“It's a long story. Let's finish breakfast first and we can tell you afterwards, the whole thing is rather sinister,” Regulus says, mirroring her expression.

They settle into the library and Regulus and Hadrian take turns in recounting the story as close to the truth as they can without mentioning Death. They tell them how Dumbledore installed himself as Hadrian’s magical guardian and left him with the Dursleys, knowing what kind of people they were, and before the confrontation between Sirius and Peter Pettigrew even happened. That Hadrian found out by chance that he’s a wizard and scared his relatives into bringing him to Diagon Alley. How he found out about Regulus, their developing relationship and later realising that his parents will has been sealed by Dumbledore.

They stray from the truth when Regulus explains that he came across the existence of the prophecy at the Ministry and that they suspect there to be a lot more manipulation at work, which would give a reason for Dumbledore’s obsessive interest in Hadrian, why he condemned Sirius to Azkaban and why he even now constantly pesters both of them. Hadrian even talks about the troll on Samhain and that the Headmaster currently keeps something hidden in the school, with clues _coincidentally_ turning up around him, and how Snape reports from time to time how closely Hadrian is watched by Dumbledore.

Even with the facts they have to withhold, it paints a disturbing picture, and all three of them portray varying stages of fury when they’re finally finished.

“The fact alone that Sirius never received a trial is a crime in itself, sealing and directly ignoring an official will is another, but outright concealing evidence for the innocence of someone should have granted the old fool a few years in Azkaban himself. It's an outrage that he only has to pay a few Galleons. As worshipped as he is and with the current political climate, his reputation won't even take a permanent blow,” Arcturus says in a tight voice. While he definitely looks the most composed out of the adults, his tightened jaw and narrowed eyes betray his ire.

“The only advantage I can see is that the Ministry will be overly cautious to take any steps against our family...” Cassiopeia adds thoughtfully, and Hadrian gets the distant impression that she’s already starting to scheme something.

“I suspect Dumbledore hopes that Hadrian will move in with Sirius, to at least get him out of my 'terrible influence.' While I'm sure that he is aware that, right now, he won't have much sway over Sirius after leaving him to rot in that godforsaken place, he most likely counts on the need for unity in the face of the 'dark threat,' to keep him firmly on his side. It's not what he originally wanted, but from his point of view it's the lesser evil,” Regulus says, which basically summarises what Death told them.

“Well, should the Dark Lord return I'm not sure that wouldn't work,” Lucretia comments dryly, speaking up for the first time.

“Sirius would be more of an idiot than I gave him credit for if he once more sides with that bastard, Hadrian living with him or not,” Cassiopeia mutters, her lips pursed disapprovingly.

“Language,” Lucretia scolds, but it’s a half-hearted attempt, only causing Cassiopeia’s mouth to twitch in amusement.

“Well, if we learned one thing in the past it’s that Sirius will do whatever he thinks to be best, so there isn't much sense in speculating over it now. Neither can we know if the Dark Lord will ever make a return or if he’s gone for good, but I think we all know the latter to be unlikely. But he always was wary of our family, he didn't even attempt to take revenge when I officially withdrew my support when he started to lose all reason, so it's also not my biggest worry. Contrary to what Dumbledore is planning.” Arcturus says, and Hadrian’s estimation of the man rises significantly at what he just heard.

For Voldemort to simply accept, however grudgingly, that Lord Black _publicly_ revoked his support could only mean that he feared the consequences too much. The fact that he had many others of the family in his ranks might have been some sort of satisfaction, but he also could have tried to use that as a point of pressure.

“Well, I was out of the country most of the time, but after I once made it clear to the _Dark Lord_ ,” Cassiopeia spits the word like it tastes vile in her mouth, “what exactly I thought of a Black prostrating before anyone, he never bothered me again, so I agree with your assessment.”

Impressed definitely doesn't hit it anymore. He throws a glance at Regulus, who looks slightly ashamed at his Grandaunts comment, but only receives a teasing smirk from her in return.

Lucretia sighs and stands. “I think we should put the matter out of our heads for now and think about it over the next few days. For now, I propose we get down to family tradition and invest the anger into duelling.”

That idea is met with overall approval and Hadrian grins. A family, infamous for a certain inclination to madness, with their go-to anger management being a tradition of duelling. No wonder that nobody wants to cross a Black.

A quick spell determines the opponents to be Lucretia against Arcturus and Cassiopeia against Regulus, who groans at the result.

“No maiming, no killing, the wards still block everything?” Arcturus asks while taking his place in the designated area, the last part directed towards Regulus.

“Of course, the concentrated power of centuries of paranoia,” he answers, causing all of them to grin.

The duel between father and daughter is swift but intense. Lucretia fights more on the defensive and is quick, but the years of experience her father has over her are undeniable. Both of them cast non-verbally, making it impossible for Hadrian to keep track of the spells that fly at rapid speed. But he can feel the magic in the room, and there’s no doubt that it’s completely and utterly dark.

In the end, Arcturus wins with a Petrification that looks like it turned her into stone but is reversed easily.

“I always hated that spell. It doesn't only _look_ like you turn into stone, outwardly you _do_. If it isn't lifted instantaneously after being cast, your skin starts to die off, the effect slowly creeping inwards,” Lucretia mutters when standing next to him, rubbing at her arms.

He grimaces, the thought alone makes him feel claustrophobic, no matter how intriguing the spell itself sounds.

The fight between Regulus and Cassiopeia goes comparably. While Regulus is unquestionably skilled and easily outmatches most witches and wizards, Cassiopeia has around 40 years on him, and definitely used them well.

She doesn't even need to cast silently, her array of spells is so vast that Hadrian never heard of any of them before, making it impossible for Regulus to judge which shield would be the right one.

The duel lasts longer than the first one, Regulus being quick with his dodging while maintaining a constant onslaught of offensive spells that keep her busy. But in the end, she catches him with a spell that results in his skin erupting as if there are bubbles forming underneath it. He only lasts a few seconds, his face scrunched up in obvious pain, before he surrenders, Lucretia instantly by his side to heal the damage.

Arcturus steps back into the warded area, and he and Cassiopeia don't waste any time after they bowed to each other. He starts out with quickly painting a couple of runes into the air around him, which is impressive in itself because you usually need something solid to channel them.

Hadrian has only rudimentary knowledge of runes, but the glowing air around Arcturus leads him to believe that they’re of a protective nature, which is confirmed quickly when all of Cassiopeia’s offensive spells simply evaporate a few inches before hitting their target.

It doesn't throw her off much though; she has to shield and dodge a lot, but she keeps up a relentless assault of spells, and Hadrian can feel the dark lure of both of their magic rising in the room, the air fizzling with tempting power and discharged energy.

Arcturus combines what Hadrian can only guess to be offensive magic with the use of conjuration and transfiguration, making it harder for Cassiopeia to dodge, and thus having her rely more on shielding, which has to be difficult as he’s still casting silently.

The room is alight with the different colours of spells, blurred from the dust of the destruction caused around the duo, with the sound of foreign languages from Cassiopeia’s casting and the buzzing of magic adding to the ominous atmosphere. It makes the hairs on the back of Hadrian’s neck stand up while being strangely beautiful at the same time.

For at least 10 minutes, neither of the two is able to gain the upper hand. They’re evenly matched while using vastly different fighting styles. By no means is watching it boring though, it’s by far the most impressive and captivating display of magic Hadrian ever witnessed, even if he can't even _begin_ to grasp half of what’s going on.

When he feels a well-known coldness creep up his neck, his first thought is that Death materialized behind him, but he instantly realises that it doesn't come from his companion, but that it stems from the duel. He furrows his brows, unknowing how that’s possible, when _something_ Cassiopeia does prompts black, menacing shackles to spring out of the floor around Arcturus. They cut through his runic shields like they never existed in the first place and constrain him to the floor faster than he can possibly react, effectively ending the fight.

She wears a smug grin and lets Arcturus struggle for a few moments, before flicking her wand and dispelling the chains. They leave dark blue marks behind on his skin as if they froze it during the few seconds they were wrapped tightly around him.

She helps him back up and with a disgruntled expression, he says: “Did you have to use Necromancy of all things? That felt utterly disgusting.”

“Well, it was the only way to get rid of your annoying shield. To each which they know best,” she shrugs, unconcerned and still smirking.

All the while Hadrian only stares, still totally fascinated. There are a thousand questions he wants to ask, first and foremost about Necromancy, then about Runes, and eventually about everything else he just witnessed.

The only thing he actually _knows_ right now is that he _never_ , ever wants to end up at the wrong end of any of the Blacks wands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah finally, the first three Blacks. I hope you like them! :)
> 
> By the way, for their age I follow canon. Arcturus is now 90, Cassiopeia 76 and Lucretia is 66.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the Kudos, Comments, Bookmarks and so on, I'm so happy you all like it! <33
> 
> And wow, already crossed 100k words, and still in first year.. Well, I did say it would be long haha :D
> 
> Enjoy! :)

The 23rd and with it the day of the Yule dinner dawns bright and early, cold winter-sun shining down on the grey London streets for a change. The tension at Grimmauld Place is notable, only Cassiopeia appears to be excited at the prospect of impending drama.

Hadrian asked her to teach him some of the spells she used in the duels, and while she warned him that a lot of them were way out of his league, she agreed readily to tutor him. To his great disappointment, 'way out of his league,' includes anything regarding Necromancy. It counts as one of the darkest magical practices, and he's going to need a lot of training in the Dark Arts before he can approach that particular branch.

Death proclaims his agreement at her assessment, warning him that if he tries this now, he'd be overwhelmed by the power and most likely go mad within a few months. While he certainly understands the reasoning, it’s still slightly frustrating. At least until she starts him on curses that already do more damage than any of the hexes and jinxes he practiced until now, including some of the Family Spells that turn bones into chalk, or a black mist clinging to the opponents head and slowly poisoning them, while harmless to someone of Black blood.

They’re so immersed in their practise that they nearly miss the arrival of Cygnus and Druella, only Kreacher popping into the room in a frenzy and shooing them downstairs preventing that particular blunder.

They arrive just a few seconds before first Druella and then Cygnus steps through the floo, giving him just enough time to shoot a few Grooming Charms at himself.

Druella is smaller than any of the Blacks, and while she appears somewhat softer, she wears a haughty expression worse than any of them, rivalling Lucius Malfoy. Her hair is done in a tight bun and white-blonde, a trait obviously strong enough to reappear at least in Narcissa.

While Cygnus is unmistakably a Black, he’s portlier than the others, and his eyes are a cold blue instead of grey.

They both only just acknowledge Hadrian’s presence, and even the greeting with the rest of the family passes stiffly.

Before he can think too much on it though, the floo flared again and Sirius comes through. His whole posture is tense, his jaw clenched, and his eyes guarded, but he’s wearing formal robes and stands straight under the scrutiny of everyone.

“Sirius, how good of you to join us!” Cassiopeia breaks the silence first and steps forward, followed directly by Lucretia.

Sirius is received even more coldly by Cygnus and Druella than Hadrian, but he simply ignores it and soon they all move into the dining hall, with Arcturus engaging the couple in polite but tense small talk.

Kreacher has outdone himself, the long table is set with the best silver, polished and shining in the light of a myriad of black candles decorating the room; a tall Christmas tree stands in the corner, adorned in white and silver with fairies dancing and humming in between.

Arcturus takes the Head of the table, Regulus to his right, followed by Hadrian, Sirius, and Cassiopeia. To his left sits Lucretia, followed by Cygnus and Druella.

They’re all silent while the elf serves platters upon platters of food, a large turkey, roast potatoes, gravy and cranberry sauce, brussel sprouts and sausages, various salads and three different types of soups. It easily rivalles Hogwarts and Hadrian feels a burst of admiration and respect for Kreacher, making sure to thank him. It earns him disapproving looks from both Cygnus and Druella, which doesn't help his first impression of them.

The extraordinary feast that gets laid out before them doesn't manage to dissolve the palpable tension in the air either. Hadrian feels more uncomfortable than he has in a long time and has to actively suppress the urge to fidget in his chair, and out of the corner of his eyes, he can see that neither Regulus nor Sirius is faring much better.

Finally, Lucretia breaks the silence, asking the newly arrived couple how they’ve been doing and attempting to rope them into a conversation, supported by Cassiopeia and Arcturus contributing a few questions and comments themselves. Both women do their best to involve them all, occasionally prompting Hadrian to tell al little about his time at Hogwarts or asking Regulus and Sirius for clarifications about the happenings of the trial, but it’ all unmistakably forced.

He has to actively block his sensitivity to all their magic, every one displaying varying stages of agitation that threaten to overwhelm him with the way it coils and snaps around the table. He’s once again glad that his talent for Legilimency only reaches as far as picking up moods easily, he’s sure he'd be completely overpowered by the negative thoughts Cygnus and Druella make clear to have about him by glaring across the table.

They didn’t even finish the main-course when Cygnus puts down his cutlery and, with a scathing glare towards Regulus and Hadrian, says: “Excuse my bluntness, but I am not going to sit here, glossing over the fact that our _Head of Family”_ \- he sneers, leaving no doubt about his opinion of Regulus' possessing that role, “has accepted an unworthy heir, as if it isn't embarrassing enough that Sirius thought it to be acceptable to blood-adopt a Half-blood.”

“Cygnus, -” Lucretia’s voice holds a clear warning, but he waves his hand dismissively.

“No, I mean it. I said years ago that Regulus is unfit for this role and this is just another confirmation. Not only is _that boy_ not a Pureblood but he's everything our family stands against. Don't you care what other dark families will think about this travesty? An untalented, mediocre half-blood, -”

Hadrian clenches his hands at 'that boy,' the resemblance to Vernon Dursley a little too close, and thinks about an appropriate reaction, but he isn't quick enough.

“Oh, shut your mouth Cygnus, whatever did _you_ contribute to this family that you could be proud of?!” Sirius interrupts, a mocking sneer on his face.

Besides Hadrian, Regulus sighs, “And here it goes.”

“You're not going to insult my brother and my godson to my face, you have no idea what Hadrian even _stands for_ , nor if he's untalented or mediocre. He's easily twice the wizard you are, he's the top of his year _and_ top of that ridiculous house hierarchy, all up to the third years. I'm sure you couldn't claim the same at his age, or well, _ever_!”

Hadrian raises an unbelieving eyebrow. Not only does he have no idea how Sirius knows about that at all, but he also wouldn't have expected his rather righteous godfather to use it as a positive argument against his bigoted Granduncle. Seeing that everyone else on the table settles for watching the spectacle, for the time being, he keeps quiet as well, unwilling to draw more attention to himself than necessary.

“Oh, _please_ Sirius, what do _you_ even know about that. You ran away when you were 16, you don't have any idea what this family stands for yourself,” Cygnus scoffs in response, standing up and pacing behind the table.

Sirius follows suit, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh I know what it stands for well enough, and while I disagree with most of your ridiculous notions, I don't think that my godson does, so your logic is rather poor. Who do you think would be a better heir anyway, your utterly insane daughter that screams down Azkaban day in and day out for 10 years and counting, how her holy master will avenge her?”

“Don't you _dare_ talk about my daughters!” Cygnus spits, raising his voice and pointing an accusing finger at Sirius, who only barks a condescending laugh at the picture.

Cassiopeia silently slips into the now empty seat next to Hadrian, an excited grin on her face. She mutters a “Don't take it too personally, they're pretty jealous,” to him, before saying in a raised voice: “See Cygnus, you have to live with the consequences when you motivate your children to fall to their knees for a madman.”

Cygnus doesn't answer, only sending a withering glare at Cassiopeia that just makes her laugh in his face and lean back in her chair.

Hadrian gets the distinct impression that she enjoys the drama a little bit too much, especially the vindictive glint in her eyes gives her away. Lucretia, on the other hand, rolls her eyes and shakes her head at her. She then calls for Kreacher, silently demanding two bottles of firewhiskey. She hands out glasses to Arcturus, Regulus, and Cassiopeia, who all take them gratefully, while Druella refuses with a pinched expression. It reminds him a bit of Petunia, and he blames Cygnus for pulling those memories to the surface of his mind.

Arcturus just observes everything silently, apparently still unwilling to intervene. Regulus looks angry and exasperated, while Hadrian just doesn't really know if he should intervene, seeing that the whole thing is about him.

On the one hand, he’s kind of touched that Sirius defends him and indirectly proclaimed his acceptance for his different views, even if he can't know all that much about them. On the other hand, he could have defended himself just fine. It’s most likely the reason why Regulus kept quiet until now, only squeezing his wrist under the table.

“Oh, maybe you want to talk about your other daughters? Maybe the one that married that slimy, corrupt git Malfoy that sucks up to everyone with the slightest amount of power? Or Andromeda, who you cast out of the family because she dared to marry someone she loved instead? Such a brilliant list of choices you have to present Cygnus, such _qualities_ that would make you a better head of the family. Because that's what you want, isn't it?” Sirius mocks with raised brows and a cruel smile twisting his lips. It’s the first time that Hadrian can clearly see that his godfather isn't only a Black in looks and name.

“Well, it's still better than running from the family like a scared little child and siding with everything we ever stood against. To a Potter and a _Mudblood,_ and then naming this ludicrous boy your heir, just to get thrown into Azkaban yourself. You have an amazing foundation to stand on yourself,” Cygnus shoots right back, his face contorted and sporting an angry flush.

“Don't you _dare_ to call Lily a Mudblood, you disgusting arsehole!” Sirius shouts and pulls his wand, causing Cassiopeia to laugh in delight, “Well, _now_ it gets interesting!”

“Enough.” Arcturus doesn't even have to raise his voice to pull the attention towards him. “Cygnus cease your insults; it is unbecoming, and you should try getting to know Hadrian first before you judge. Sirius, calm yourself as well. Not everything is as black and white as you would like it to be and not all of us sided with the Dark Lord.”

“Do you really defend this treachery of all our values? You’re going soft, I said that years ago,” Cygnus spits.

“Huh, someone feels brave,” Cassiopeia mutters next to him and Hadrian just barely manages to cover his snort.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, don't you think we lost enough of our family already? There is nobody better suited as Head of Family than Regulus, as much as you wish it was you Cygnus, you don't even have a male heir. Narcissa’s son is first and foremost a Malfoy, Hadrian has Black blood already from Dorea and moreover is the heir to four houses. There are enough Purebloods that don't look down on Half-bloods, and maybe it's time for us to do the same if we don't want to die out within the next few generations,” Arcturus says, his tone leaving no room for argument and his eyes flashing in annoyance.

Both Sirius and Cygnus open their mouths to say something when Druella suddenly lets out a muffled scream. She points a shaking finger towards the door, prompting everyone to whirl around.

_$Hatchling, I heard shouting. Do I need to bite someone?$_ Atana hisses eagerly while making her way over to him, completely unconcerned with the ruckus she’s causing.

He sighs and helps her up to curl around his shoulders while answering: _$Please don't, I don't think it would solve this particular problem.$_

“Are... Are you a Parselmouth?” Sirius stammers out, reminding him that not everyone in the room was aware of that little fact, emphasized by the horror displayed on Sirius' face that tells him that he’s on the verge of freaking out.

Druella still looks terrified, while Cygnus sports a rather conflicted expression. As if he desperately wants to hold on to his low opinion but has trouble to fit this new fact with the rest of it.

“Yes, I forgot to mention it. This is Atana, by the way,” he explains, ignoring the barely suppressed laughter from both Regulus and Cassiopeia.

“But... But that's dark!” Sirius states dumbly and Hadrian rolls his eyes, only just keeping from hitting his head against the table.

“Listen, both of you,” Hadrian directs at Sirius and Cygnus, taking the opportunity to finally get a word in edgewise. “I honestly could care less about what you think of me. It's ridiculous to judge someone on their blood-status, I know it is or was important to this family, but to be blunt, there are Half-bloods and Muggleborn way more powerful than Purebloods, just look at Crabbe and Goyle.”

He shifts his gaze to Sirius who, up until now looks smugly at Cygnus. “I also don't care one bit about dark or light, in my opinion, magic is magic and we are born with a predisposition. How does it make sense to condemn one of them?! Take Dumbledore, for example, he's celebrated as the champion of the light while being a despicable person, not to mention that his magic feels utterly disgusting.”

Looking back at Cygnus he raises his chin defiantly and continues: “What I _do_ care about though is my family, at least as long as they care about me in return. So, you can sprout as much hatred about me as you want, I won't go anywhere. I will value our traditions and history and give my best to do the role as heir justice, but if you keep insulting me, don't expect me to sit by and just take it.”

He draws a breath, only Atana’s weight around his shoulders grounding him enough to not keep ranting for another 5 minutes. “And Sirius, as much as I value your attempt to defend me, I _am_ able to do so myself.” He adds the last part more softly, wanting to make clear that he differentiates between the two of them regardless of his little rant.

Cygnus is gaping at him, incredulous, before turning towards Regulus. “Are you letting him speak to me like that?!”

Regulus only shrugs a shoulder and smirks faintly, looking unconcerned when he says: “Well, I have nothing to add to it, so I don't really see your point.”

“Maybe you shouldn't expect support from those you insulted 5 minutes ago,” Cassiopeia says in a sing-song tone, grinning sharply at the stout man. Hadrian has to press his hand against his mouth to not outright laugh at Cygnus' expression.

“Come on Druella, we're leaving,” he grounds out after a few more seconds of staring.

“Oh Cygnus, not even a duel? Who's going soft now?” Cassiopeia taunts, earning a glare from half the room. She only seems to revel in it.

Nobody tries to stop them when they make their way out of the room and they’re all silent until they heard the floo.

“Sirius, in the study, now. We're going to have a talk about all your assumptions. Regulus, I think you should come along as well,” Arcturus finally says.

Sirius looks reluctant and on the verge of protesting, but one look from Arcturus is enough to make him follow. Regulus shoots Hadrian a concerned look as he stands up, but he just smiles, trying to converse silently that he would be fine. Lucretia follows the trio out of the room, a bottle of whiskey in her hand.

He exhales in a rush, noticing only now how tense he is. He was honest when he said that he doesn't care all that much, but it still hasn't been a nice experience. Especially the unexpected reminder of his charming aunt and uncle and the hatred they never really stopped to spew at him caught him off guard.

Cassiopeia wordlessly summons another tumbler and fills it and her own with firewhiskey, handing it to him with a nod.

He raises an amused brow at her, “You do know I'm only 11, don't you?”

She just waves a hand and grins, “While this wasn't even close to the most dramatic family dinner I attended, you just got insulted and patronized to your face, and still handled yourself remarkably. You deserve a little treat. Also, if I can teach you dark magic, you can have a drink.”

He smiles before taking a sip, but instantly coughs and splutters at the burning in his throat. Cassiopeia laughs loudly at him while clapping his back. “Besides, I just _love_ to witness when people try it for the first time. Don't worry, it gets better.”

His eyes water even after he stops coughing, and he shakes his head at her in fond exasperation, but he can see it as the attempt of silent comfort that it’s supposed to be. His next sip is a lot smaller, and while it still feels like his tongue is burning away, it does indeed get better. A pleasant warmth spreads through him and he relaxes slowly into his chair, running his fingers along Atana.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, both immersed in their own thoughts. Cassiopeia fills his glass a second time and he can already feel his head becoming a little bit fuzzy, but it’s kind of pleasant, the slowed-down thought-process and dulling of his high-strung emotions.

“You know, it was brave how you stood up to both of them,” she finally says, her nails tapping rhythmically against her glass.

“You don't have a problem with what I said?” he asks, the question lingering on his mind for the last 30 minutes. While he did mean it, he realised only afterwards that the other Blacks could feel insulted by his statement about blood-purity. He stood with that opinion, and he expected the topic to come up sooner or later anyway, but contrary to Cygnus, he likes Cassiopeia, Arcturus, and Lucretia and hopes that it won't drive a wedge between them.

She tilts her head a little as if pondering her answer and then grins at him, “No, not really. When you come around as much as I did you learn sooner or later that the purity of one’s blood doesn't say much about skill or power, much like you said. The problem for me is more the threat the Muggleborn and Half-bloods pose to our world, and how there is such a disregard for our culture and traditions, especially in the current political climate.”

He notices that he’s nodding along, and pushes the glass a little away from him, causing a fleeting smirk to pass over her lips. “I hope Arcturus shares your opinion,” he murmurs, more to himself, but of course she hears him anyway.

“Don't worry, he's not too far off. If he had a problem with you, you would have noticed by now and he wouldn't spend his evenings teaching you. While he's more the quiet and observing type, he doesn't bother to hide his displeasure. Besides, the extreme fanatism about blood-purity has always been stronger in the side-branch, it's why Walburga was much worse with the boys than Orion. I suspect it was a way to appease their complex of only being the second choice. Mind you, having a Half-blood in the family at all is unheard of, but as long as you behave as your role demands it from you, you'll be fine.” She looks completely unconcerned, only a certain vindictive amusement about the jealousy of some of the family visible in her eyes, and it causes him to let go of the remaining tension that built up slowly for weeks now.

They’ve been here only for a few days, and while it all went smoothly until tonight, the topic never came up, so he didn't know where they stood. After the whole disaster with Theo’s father, his awareness of people having an issue with his blood-status has become more pronounced, regardless of his own opinion on the matter. It’s a greater relief than he expected that the majority of his adoptive family doesn't mind. He can live with two idiots, Cygnus and Druella didn’t make a very interesting impression on him anyway.

“Thank you,” he smiles softly, before letting his head fall against the backrest of the chair. After spending half the day making his first attempts at dark magic, something that’s far more draining than what he has done as of yet, the drama of the dinner, and now the two glasses of firewhiskey, he suddenly can barely keep his eyes open. While Parselmagic is labelled dark, it’s actually something that comes naturally to a Parselmouth and doesn't require as much concentration, control, and raw magical strength as dark curses and protections.

She raises her glass in response just as the door opens and Regulus and Arcturus step into the room. The former only glances at him and instantly sighs, an expression of amusement and exasperation on his face when he says to Cassiopeia: “Firewhiskey for a first-year, honestly?”

She grins and shrugs, “He had his first dramatic fight with the family, it's tradition.”

Hadrian snorts, “This family has the absolute best traditions, how do you come up with this stuff, seriously? Ah and by the way, where is Sirius?”

All three of them are suppressing their laughs and he belatedly realises that he said the first part out loud, feeling himself flush. Salazar, he never flushes but his face is just _so warm_.

“Sirius is more or less in the same state as you, after his stay in Azkaban he apparently doesn't stomach his whiskey much better. Lucretia is currently setting him up in a guest-room, and I think I should bring you to your room as well,” Regulus grins, and he just nods but quickly stops, as it causes the room to spin unpleasantly.

“You know, you could have given him wine at least,” Arcturus remarks dryly while Regulus helps him to stand. He doesn't catch the answer, occupied with leaning onto Regulus and concentrating to not stumble even more than he already does.

* * *

Kreacher wakes him up the next morning so he wouldn't miss breakfast, and thankfully hands him a hangover potion in the process. His head hurts and his stomach feels queasy, and he inwardly curses Cassiopeia into next week.

The potion and a shower do a great job though and he enters the kitchen just in time. Sirius sits amongst the others and looks way more relaxed than the night before, beaming at him when he takes his place next to Regulus.

“I heard you had your first drink last night,” Sirius grins, the vaguely proud look making him snort.

“Yeah, and it'll also be the last one for some time, I'm just glad we have so much of that potion in store,” he says dryly while heaping eggs and bacon on his plate.

“Now that's just cheating, you can't just skip your first hangover!” his godfather exclaims, his hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture of offense.

“Oh please, I remember vividly how you begged so much for the potion that we all got annoyed enough to give you one, even when you sneaked the alcohol for yourself instead of receiving it from us.” Lucretia rolls her eyes and Sirius only grins cheekily and shrugs.

“Oh Salazar, I remember that. You got so drunk that you threw up four times while crying and whining, and I had to hold your hair the whole time and carry you to your bed,” Regulus grimaces at the memory.

“Okay, not a topic for breakfast kids,” Cassiopeia admonishes, but she’s grinning as well. Hadrian just enjoys the calm and relaxed atmosphere and that apparently his first occasion of alcohol consumption has gone over comparably well.

After breakfast, Sirius asks to talk to him for a moment before he has to leave, and they sit down in the library, his godfather shifting in his seat and avoiding his eyes, obviously nervous.

“Look, I want to apologise. I know my outburst last week was... well, uncalled for and rather condescending, I think Remus called it,” he finally says, his eyes pleading, “I didn't mean to imply that I wouldn't accept you for who you are, or that Regulus isn't good for you. I'm not meaning to justify it, I just have trouble to adjust to all the changes around me, and that a lot of things are different from what I thought them to be. So, for what it's worth, I'm sorry, and I hope you can give me another chance.” He exhales heavily and slumps in his seat, the relief about getting that off his chest clear on his face.

Hadrian smiles, while he doesn't know Sirius all that well, he suspects that it’s a big step for him to admit especially the last part out loud. He doesn't have comparable experiences, but he could imagine that the amount of betrayed trust and the realisation that some of your convictions might be false, has to be difficult, especially after such a long time in Azkaban.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. It's alright, as long as you mean it.” Sirius opens his mouth to say something, but he shakes his head and continued: “I'm not doubting that you're sorry or that it isn't all a bit much. I'm just saying that I think you'll notice that I'm not who you probably expected me to be. I meant what I said last night about my values. But what's more, I don't trust easily, and I don't do well with a lot of emotional stuff. I'm not saying that's perfect, but I feel comfortable with it right now and don't intend to change it, and that also goes for talking about my parents. Even telling you this makes me uncomfortable already, but I think you should know this if we want to give this whole thing a chance...” he trails off, chancing an uncertain look at Sirius.

His brows are furrowed and he’s biting his bottom lip, a lot of emotions in his eyes. At last, he sighs and smiles slightly, albeit a bit sorrowful. “As long as you're happy and don't feel pressured to be this way – and please don't get me wrong, I don't mean to say that Reggie does that, just, in general... As long as you're happy and willing to bear with my over-emotional self, I think we can work with that. Arcturus gave me an extensive talking to last night and I have a lot of stuff to think on anyway, so...” he shrugs and fiddles with his sleeves, but appears terribly earnest, his face betraying all of his emotions.

Hadrian grins at the mental image of Arcturus scolding Sirius like a little boy. “I'm happy, really. And I hope you can see that maybe not everything is as bad as you think it is. I like both you and Remus and I'd be glad if we can get along,” he says softly, just now realising that he really means it.

Sirius smiles broadly and hugs him, causing him to instantly tense. Sirius pulls back right away and flashes him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, as I said, over-emotional self.”

“It's alright, try to give me a warning next time,” he sighs. It isn't that he has anything against affectionate contact, he just doesn't like the surprise from people with who he isn't used to doing that.

“Will do, and I'll try to think about what you, Arcturus and Regulus said, alright? Remus mentioned a few times that I'm not 20 anymore so maybe it really is time to do so,” Sirius grumbles, still sounding a bit petulant, but Hadrian suspects that it might be difficult for the rather stubborn man to admit that at all.

Sirius leaves shortly after, needing to return to St. Mungo’s, and Hadrian finds himself back in the duelling room with Cassiopeia and Lucretia. The latter decided to join them, wanting to teach him some healing, an idea he readily agrees with.

However, after an hour they have to concede that he has absolutely no talent for that particular branch of magic, neither with nor without his wand. He simply doesn’t manage to wield his magic the way it should be, the spell always coming out too weak or not at all.

It frustrates him to no end, he never experienced difficulties like this with any form of magic, but at the same time, he grudgingly admits to himself that he probably can't do perfectly on everything. At least he still has his talent for potions for anything related to healing, and Lucretia promises to look over his current research with him in the following week.

Cassiopeia suggests that he might have an easier time with the healing branch of Necromancy, as his own magical core is more dark than light or grey, but as it’s definitely advanced Necromancy, and even the easiest form of it is far out of his reach right now, it will be a few years until he can find out.

To lighten his mood, she teaches him a few dark blasting and explosive curses, which achieves that goal flawlessly. Not only does he master them quickly, blowing up stuff just works wonders against pent-up frustration.

After dinner, they all go outside to celebrate the Yule ritual. The last few years Regulus and he only did a small version of it, just burning a Yule log, but this year they light a bigger fire in the back garden and cast a full runic circle. The four adults take the cardinal points while he offers sage, sweetgrass and pine needles as offerings into the fire.

The four speak the traditional verses between themselves, and soon magic crackles in the air, causing the flames to rise higher and shadows to dance across the snow-covered ground.

_Crone tempus est tempus hiemis deae._  
_Hodie celebramus festivitatem brumam_  
_renascentia Solis lumine terras adventum._  
_Sicut circulus anni statim vertit magis,_  
_honoramus aeternus nascendo vita morte renasci_

_Crone Domine, trochleae convertitur cum magis._  
_Orff Tempus Est enim dici quod est nunc paratus._  
_Ne paveas repentino, sicut in hieme, quae oritur statim iterum_

_Nunc autem iam non ego ut in dies iam rediit sol tuus._  
_Quae mihi temporum finita, sed in tempore Virgo incipit._  
_Qui venerunt audire sapientiam apud te, et satis sapientes ut via tua._

_Tibi gratias ago pro sapientiae tuae annis,_  
_cum usque ad finem anni._  
_Quoniam tempus ut incipiat novus ut vos declinavit:_  
_inde gloriam damus._

_Fac nobis propítius hóstias hac nocte,_  
_ostendere amorem nostrum ad vos, o dea._  
_Suscipe munera quoniam_  
_nos intrantes suo nova et gaudium in cordibus vestris_

 After they finished the chant for the third time, they all stay silent for long minutes, meditating for themselves. The Winter Solstice traditionally stands for change and renewing energy, a time to value the achievements of the past and asking for blessings for new resolutions. While the Samhain ritual has a more settling nature, indicating a time of rest towards winter, the one for Yule provides energy, and the effect is much more intense now than he ever experienced it before, with the family rite done between five of them.

Afterwards they sit down and exchange presents, but as is usual for Yule, they mostly consist of smaller things like books, sweets or rare potion ingredients.

* * *

The next days go on mostly like this; he spends the first half of his day with Cassiopeia in the duelling room and his afternoons with Lucretia in the potions lab. Arcturus and Regulus are mostly holed up in the study, going over the estates of the family business and joining them for meals and after dinner in the library. Then Arcturus likes to teach Hadrian the basics of Runes, or they talk for hours about history, and while every day is utterly exhausting, he also has the impression that he learns more than he does in a month at Hogwarts. He mourns the fact that they all live in different countries, so that this won't be a common occurrence for his holidays.

Between all of this, there’s not much time for himself, but surprisingly he doesn't mind it all that much. He knows he could retreat to his room if he wanted to and they would understand, but he genuinely enjoys the company of all of them, especially because their vastly different characters complement each other. The only downside is that he has little time to spend with Death, who still adds a few comments here and there and mostly approves of the tutoring, but it isn't all that different from Hogwarts.

Regulus comes to his room most of the nights, for at least half an hour between the two of them, checking in with his well-being and asking if there are any news from Dumbledore or Voldemort, which luckily isn't the case.

On the night before the 31st Hadrian asks Regulus if he told any of the others about the 'Nott-Problem,' as he just remembered that they would all meet each other the next night.

“No, I didn't, I thought you would let them know if you wanted to. Though you should consider the possibility that it'll come up anyway, and I have the impression that all three of them are already rather protective of you. Not to mention that I'd like to have a few words with Lord Nott myself,” Regulus says, his eyes blazing with suppressed anger.

Hadrian sighs, mainly because he doesn't really know how to handle the whole thing himself. “On the one hand, I'd find that greatly entertaining and would even add a few things myself, but on the other hand, I'm really worried about Theo. I mean if his father approaches me himself it's one thing, but to outright confront him might send the wrong signal.”

Regulus furrows his brows and thinks about it for a few moments before he says: “I see where you're coming from, but it's not only about Theo befriending you, it's also an insult to our family.”

He groans and plops back onto his bed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn't think about it that way. But please, can we wait and see if he's outright disrespectful towards me?”

“Well, if you can convince the rest of the clan of that, I'll try,” Regulus allows, reluctance clear in his voice.

“Thanks,” he says, sitting back up and hugging Regulus. He can see that he’s more than unsatisfied with that solution, but that he respects his wishes nonetheless, and he just hopes that he can convey his gratefulness for that well enough without words.

And who knows, maybe Lord Nott will be stupid enough to start the drama himself, he would even have Theos blessing then. Not that he thinks himself able to prevent the Blacks from reacting to an outright insult towards him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation of the ritual for those who'd like to know (also, sorry if there are mistakes with the latin..): 
> 
> It is the season of the Crone, the time of the winter goddess.  
> Tonight we celebrate the festival of the winter solstice,  
> the rebirth of the Sun, and the return of light to the Earth.  
> As the Wheel of the Year turns once more,  
> we honor the eternal cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth. 
> 
> O Crone, the Wheel has turned once more.  
> It is time for the Maiden to claim what is now hers.  
> As you lie down for the winter, she is born once again. 
> 
> The days will now get longer, now the Sun has returned.  
> My season has ended, yet the season of the Maiden begins.  
> Listen to the wisdom of those who have come before you,  
> and yet be wise enough to make your own way. 
> 
> Thank you for the wisdom of your years,  
> and for seeing the season through to its end.  
> You have stepped aside that the new season may begin,  
> and for this we give you honor. 
> 
> We make these offerings tonight,  
> to show our love to you, O Goddess.  
> Please accept our gifts, and know that  
> we are entering this new season with joy in our hearts


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your feedback! <3
> 
> I'm sorry this is a bit later than usual, but the heatwave here practically killed all my motivation.

After Hadrian spent the previous night debating with Death and himself how to approach the subject of Lord Nott with the rest of his newfound family, the opportunity more or less presents itself during breakfast.

“Cygnus and Druella are attending tonight, aren't they? Do you think it'll be fine?” Regulus asks towards Arcturus, apprehension etched onto his face.

“I suppose they won't be ecstatic to see all of us, but they're not stupid enough to make a public spectacle out of it,” Arcturus answers without looking up from the Daily Prophet in front of him.

“Well, I probably should tell you about Lord Nott now,” Hadrian mutters, gazing towards Regulus who smiles encouragingly.

“Not the nicest company,” Cassiopeia remarks, one brow raised in question.

“Yeah, you can say that. His son is in my year at Hogwarts, we share a dorm and became friends at the start of term. A few weeks ago he received a letter from his father, telling him to cease all contact with me because of my blood-status,” he explains, slightly uncomfortable with bringing the topic up again.

“Looks like we're going to have a few words with Nott Senior, then,” Cassiopeia grins sharply, the same excitement shining in her eyes he still remembers from the Yule dinner.

He shifts in his chair and draws his bottom lip between his teeth, but finally sighs and says: “The problem is that I suspect him to be... not so nice with Theo. He was pretty shaken after he got the letter. He didn't want to listen to his father, but it was obvious that he feared the consequences too much if he didn't, so... I would prefer it if we could wait and see if Lord Nott attacks me first? I know, it also counts as an insult to the family, but I really don't want to make things worse for Theo.”

Their expressions hardened at his mention of Nott Senior’s treatment of his son, but in the end, Cassiopeia shrugs and says: “Well, the man could never keep his mouth shut anyway, so I suppose we can do that. What do you think, Arcturus?”

“You may be right, but I haven't seen him since the war. The fact that the Notts lost most of their fortune and subsequently their influence in the process of staying out of Azkaban might have done his self-restraint some good. Either way, it's smarter to let him make the first move. Most of us didn't attend these kinds of events in the last few years, and I also don't like the thought of his son taking the brunt for it. If it doesn't come to a confrontation tonight, I can still try to sort this out with him privately.”

Hadrian lets out a relieved breath and smiles gratefully at Arcturus, who inclines his head in response, his lips curling slightly. He knows that Theo’s father most likely won't be the only one who has a problem with him and that many of the guests are bound to be at least curious, considering how quickly gossip makes its rounds amongst the Purebloods. Knowing the Blacks protect him not only for their own honour, but contemplate and respect his own input squelches most of his nervousness.

Of course, Regulus attendance alone would’ve been more than enough for him to not feel like walking straight into the lion’s den, but the support of the others is like an extra security-backup.

* * *

At 10 Minutes to 8, they meet up in the parlour to floo to Malfoy Manor. They’re all dressed up in formal robes, traditionally in varying combinations of black, dark grey and blue and with the house crest stitched proudly on the chest. Hadrian still doesn't show his Gryffindor heirship, but underneath the Black crest those of House Potter and House Peverell are visible. Displaying the Black crest above the others counts as an unmistakable statement about his main loyalty, and it is a deliberate choice on his part.

They arrive in a vast entrance hall in white and gold, portraits of blonde after blonde ancestor lining the walls, with a few artefacts in between. Two tall, richly decorated Christmas trees stand on both sides of a marble staircase, and artificial snow is falling from the ceiling.

The three Malfoys wait in front of the floo, and after everyone from their group made it through at last, they all exchange formal greetings. Still, the interactions between Narcissa and the other Blacks are notably warmer, while Lucius remains stoic and Draco shifts slightly from foot to foot, his smile strained. Hadrian recalls him mentioning that he never met anyone besides Cygnus and Druella, and Regulus of course.

After house-elves took their cloaks, they enter the ballroom, which is even more pompous than the entrance hall. The floor and the ceiling are white marble with golden threads woven through, and the walls are painted in a soft crème. Small, high tables are scattered around the room while ice-sculptures and artfully arranged bouquets decorate the open spaces in between. Soft lights float under the ceiling, reflecting in the high windows opposite the entrance, and a harp plays itself in a corner, adding the last touch to the intended atmosphere of royalty.

He can't help but compare it to Black Manor; this is such a contrast to the sleek and dark, but in his opinion much more comfortable setting. It might be a result of the surroundings he grew up in, but the light and boastful ambiance feel fake and simply _wrong,_ for lack of a better word.

Several witches and wizards already stand around in small groups, but he doesn't have much time to get a better picture as Blaise and his mother immediately intercept them. Not that he minds, it has been two weeks since he has last seen Blaise and an honest smile pulls on the corner of his mouth. What surprises him though is the enthusiastic greeting between Cassiopeia and Lady Zabini and, with what he knows about Blaise’s mother, he can't help but think that those two make a rather terrific duo.

The two of them instantly get carried away in their conversation, so Blaise pulls him towards the other side of the room where many of the younger Slytherins are lingering together. They all greet him respectfully, but otherwise make some space and leave them alone when Daphne comes over and hugs him. Theo apparently hasn't arrived yet, and he can see in the way Daphne and Blaise constantly scan the room that they’re just as worried as he is.

They talked for 20 Minutes, about their holidays and the upcoming term, when Draco finally makes his way over to their corner with Theo in tow. Hadrian pulls Blaise with him to the side, not wanting to chance Lord Nott seeing them together, even when he wants nothing more than to reassure himself that Theo is alright.

There won't be an official dinner tonight, but house-elves are making rounds with floating platters of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. The guests can either socialize at the small tables or dance. Most are from the darker Pureblood families, but there are also a few high-ranking Ministry officials, one of them Minister Fudge. It doesn't surprise him all that much, he knows exactly how corruptible the man is and only hopes that he can avoid him. He heard from Regulus how sycophantic Fudge has become since Sirius’ trial, and he doesn't doubt that his status as the boy-who-lived would only spur him on.

Thankfully the children are mostly left to their own devices, as those who receive an invitation know each other anyway. While it’s his first ball, he doesn't intend to introduce himself to everyone. He’s still too young to play a big role or have much influence, whatever the Prophet might write, and for now, it suffices to be seen regularly at these events.

He just finished his story about the Yule disaster and his first experience with firewhiskey, which sent Blaise in a poorly suppressed fit of laughter, when they’re interrupted.

“Look what we have here, _Hadrian_ Potter acting like a little Pureblood,” a menacing voice drawls behind him and he whirls around, inwardly cursing himself for not paying closer attention to his surroundings.

Even without the comment, he could have guessed that this has to be Theo's father. While his hair is several shades darker and his face looks tired and kind of gaunt, the sharp eyes are exactly the same. Theo just never looked at him with that much disdain. A nasty curse scar twists from his cheek downwards above his throat and makes the voice sound rough and grating, but in a far less intimidating manner than Death’s does.

“My mistake, Lord Nott. I didn't intend to give off the impression that I present as something I'm clearly not,” he smiles sweetly, refusing to show any disconcertment. He keeps his posture relaxed, only crossing his arms loosely over his chest while making sure that he could grab his wand in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, you think yourself so important, don't you? Letting yourself be carried on what little fame you have, drawn from a deed no intelligent person would believe you even did in the first place. A few simple tricks without a wand, a few important names, and you think you're worth way more than you actually are,” Nott spits, an ugly sneer curling on his thin lips.

Most people around them have noticed their exchange already. His friends stand slightly to the right and watch with anxious expressions, while out of the corner of his eyes he sees Regulus, Arcturus, and Cassiopeia approach them. It alleviates him a little because while he’s not cowered, he’s not stupid enough to underestimate the angry man in front of him either.

He’s still only 11, and Nott has been a Death Eater for a long time and obviously has a temper. He refuses to back down though, just on principle and also because it'd be like admitting defeat in front of everyone.

So, knowing that the three Blacks stand at his back gives him the push of confidence he needs to follow through with the plan he crafted carefully for this confrontation, thankful that they choose to stay silent and just watch for now. He reckons that Arcturus wants to observe how he handles this on his own, and Regulus knows that he wants to try to solve this by himself first. Cassiopeia most likely just enjoys the show.

“I'm actually well aware that it most likely wasn't my doing, to vanish the Dark Lord that is. I care as little about my fame as for my blood-status, after all, I did nothing to achieve it myself,” he shrugs, levelling a faint smirk at the man.

“What are you implying, do you want to tell me that being of purer blood isn't something to be proud of?!”

“Not exactly,” he says, tapping his fingers against his loosely crossed arm. Nott Sr. looks puzzled for a moment, which is exactly what he aimed for. As eloquent as he may be, he needs to play a little dirty if he wants to finish this with his dignity still intact _and_ without offending the majority of the room. “You see, there's a difference. If your blood matters so much to you, you can be proud of the fact that your ancestors managed to keep the line pure, but it's not a _personal_ accomplishment you can hold up. Personally, I put more worth on the latter, because I have less admiration for blood than for actual power. But to each their own, I suppose.”

It’s kind of a low blow, considering that Notts' greatest achievement has been to avoid Azkaban, and by the look on his face he got the hint. Well, his son is definitely one, but he doubts he sees it as such, sickening as it may be. Of course, he might see his past as a high-ranking Death Eater as a powerful accomplishment, but he can't actually say this here.

“Oh, such as powerful as your now- _dead_ parents so clearly were, your mother a mere Mudblood, seeing that you had to worm your way into another important family?” Nott taunts, and Hadrian has to give it to him that it would’ve been a good insult, had he cared a little more.

“Ah I see, so you say a Pureblood would automatically be on par with the Dark Lord? That they could have survived him if my mother hadn't been a Muggleborn?” he tilts his head curiously. Honestly, this couldn't have been going better if he wrote a script for it.

“How dare you filthy little Half-blood even mention him?!” Nott bristles in an obvious attempt to avoid the actual question. All the better for him, though.

It’s spoken in a furious whisper, but it gives him exactly the opening he has been waiting for, and he doesn't stop the cruel smile that takes over his face. “Oh, you mean a _filthy little Half-blood_ like the Dark Lord?”

Nott freezes, and you could hear a needle drop in the following silence. Even the music stopped at some point, and he takes a short moment to relish the dramatics of it all. Contrary to Nott he didn’t lower his voice and as far as he knows, very few people are aware of that little titbit of information. He would probably have to prove his claim sooner or later, but he invested some time to be able to do exactly that. It has been ridiculously easy, if you liked research, that is.

He found the story hilarious ever since Death mentioned it in an offhand comment as if it’s unimportant, and to the entity it most likely is. But he vowed to himself to let it slip at the right moment, and preferably before Voldemort’s resurrection. Sanity or not, he'd probably get into a whole world of trouble as soon as the Dark Lord found out.

Nott obviously doesn't sense the corner he has been backed into, because in a swift movement he pulls his wand and takes a step forward. Before Hadrian can even react, Regulus and, to his slight surprise Cassiopeia, step in front of him, both of their wands digging into Notts’ throat.

“Now Oswin, I suggest that for once you think before you act,” Cassiopeia says sharply, and Hadrian swears that he can see the man blanch. Still, the message doesn't really seem to process.

“He's lying, he's slandering the Dark Lords -” he breaks off, eyeing Regulus warily whose hand started to tremble with restraint anger. Hadrian is only amazed that a man in his sixties very nearly proclaimed his loyalties in a room full of people and wonders how he managed to escape Azkaban at all. He just hopes that Theo will forgive him.

“Oh, but the fun thing is that he isn't,” Cassiopeia smirks, “and don't forget who you're talking to right now. Do you think the Dark Lord was born with a French, single name? I'll have to give it to him, he covered his tracks rather well and as you went to Hogwarts after his time, and most likely never dared to ask questions, it may have slipped your attention. But the Dark Lord was a Half-blood, son of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle – a Muggle. _Interesting,_ isn't it?”

Well, Cassiopeia of all people confirming his claim just makes it a lot easier, he probably should have anticipated that she knew about it in the first place.

Nott looks shaken and utterly confused, but he scoffs anyway: “At least he didn't denounce the importance of blood-purity like that filthy dishonour of a child!”

Regulus wand tip glows, but before he can finish whatever hex he wants to throw, Arcturus steps forward, his own wand loosely but visible in his hand. “If you don't want a blood-feud between our families, I suggest that you stop insulting our heir. Looking at _your_ standing compared to ours, the decision shouldn't be all that hard. And just to prevent any misunderstandings, I do understand it as an insult to forbid your son to associate with Hadrian.”

Notts face pales, and even Hadrian has to fight to keep his expression blank. Blood-feuds are unheard of in the last century, and while he gets along well enough with the three Blacks, he never expected Arcturus to go this far in his defence. Saving the family-honour could have been handled differently, especially because the Notts don't have much influence left anyway and it would be easy to ostracise them out of 'high society.'

“I think it would be better if you leave right now. Theo will stay here tonight,” Narcissa’s cold voice breaks the tense staring match.

Only now Regulus and Cassiopeia lower their wands, but their postures don't loosen, and they keep their eyes closely on Notts’ movements. The man stands utterly still, most likely just comprehending the extent of the situation he is in.

“You agree with this travesty?!” he asks in a tight voice, his hand clenching around his wand and his narrowed eyes fixed on Narcissa.

“He's family,” Narcissa answers, putting a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder and squeezing it softly.

Notts’ eyes roam the room until they find Cygnus and he asks, still incredulous: “What about you, don't tell me you agree with them. We went to school together; I know how you view these things!”

Hadrian tenses a little, the memory of Yule still fresh in his mind. He doesn't think that it will do Nott much good if Cygnus agrees with him, but he doesn't want to cause any more drama than he already has, especially within the family. Those are Narcissa’s parents after all, and he would rather refuse her support than putting a strain on their relationship.

Cygnus straightens and looks coldly at Nott. “If you think a disagreement between us will make me side against my family, you are a fool. You should know that the Blacks will _always_ come first.”

Hadrian is sure that his mask slips a little this time. Sure, both Cygnus and Druella look like they'd rather be anywhere but here, but both have their chins raised defiantly, daring anyone to defy them. He absent-mindedly wonders if they knew about Voldemort being a Half-blood. He seriously doubts it and mourns that he missed their expressions when he revealed it. Now that he thinks about it, he should ask someone about the memory for a Pensive, he'd like to see the overall reactions.

After a few more seconds of silence, Lord Nott straightens up, throws a last, venomous glare at Hadrian and storms from the room, not even sparing a glance towards Theo.

He turns to Narcissa and Arcturus and smiles softly, “Thank you, both of you. You didn't have to do this.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Narcissa waves a hand, “Not only did I mean what I said, but I also won't tolerate any of my guests being insulted in my home.”

Regulus then comes up next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “You're alright, kiddo?” he asks, and Hadrian nods, leaning some of his weight against him. “Of course, you had to drop that bomb on him, didn't you?” he continues in a low voice, his mouth twitching at the side.

“Well, I only called him out on his hypocrisy. I live to tell the truth, what can you do?” he shrugs and grins in response.

“Did you have a plan if Cassiopeia wouldn't have backed you up?”  
  
“Of course I had. As he's supposed to be my mortal enemy and I value information, I researched his origins. From the fact that he claimed to be the heir of Slytherin, I backtracked his heritage to the Gaunts’, the last known Parselmouths. The last male-heir of the Gaunts died without children, but his sister married a Muggle, for which she was disowned, and then died in childbirth. Tom Riddle, conveniently named after his father, attended Hogwarts but vanished a few years after graduation. Rather conspicuous for someone who broke all records in his OWLs and NEWTs. A few years later Voldemort appeared seemingly out of nowhere, coincidentally the heir of Slytherin and only known Parselmouth in a long time, associating with the very people Tom Riddle went to Hogwarts with. The whole genealogy and history are easily found in our library. I could go on, but you get the idea.”

“Looks like you thought this through,” Regulus smiles, looking proud.

“Let's just say that I anticipated that I'd like to use it sooner or later.”

Regulus grabs a tumbler of Firewhiskey from a passing house-elf and sighs, “Here's to hoping that the Dark Lord won't kill you just for that. It's going to be the talk for the next few months.”

* * *

Arcturus has to admit that he’s kind of impressed, something that happens rather rarely. When he learned that Hadrian Potter is the Black heir, he was sceptic at best. After Regulus reassured him in his letters that there couldn't be anyone better, he decided to reserve his judgement, and until now he at least hasn’t been disappointed.

During the last week, he observed him closely, and while not as taken as Cassiopeia and Lucretia are with the boy, he has to give it to him that he’s intelligent and knows how to carry himself. He honestly enjoys his thirst for knowledge and could admit that his blood-status matters very little, as he obviously spent the years he lived with Regulus getting accustomed to the requirements of his status. He values history, and the traditions and customs of the family and his opinions on political issues don't stray far from Arcturus' own.

Not to mention that he can see that he has a positive influence on Regulus, which is a huge point in favour.

These are qualities you find in most heirs though, and there’s more to a Black than wit and control over your facial features. While Hadrian handled himself well enough during Yule, the confrontation mainly happened between Cygnus and Sirius, and thus didn't tell him much about how he would deal with a situation like that on his own.

So, Arcturus awaited the gala for his final judgement. Even if Nott didn’t outright confront him, there are enough people in attendance who at least would look down on him, and it says a lot about a person how they react to this kind of treatment. He might be only 11, but if he had tried to hide from the attention behind Regulus it would have spoken of little backbone. Arcturus would never pressure Regulus into giving the boy up – not that he even thought that possible – but it would have influenced his current thoughts about involving himself in the drama surrounding the boy, which will only get worse in coming years.

But the little show with Lord Nott pleased him. Not only did he stay absolutely calm, but Arcturus has no doubt that he stirred the conversation the way it went down on purpose.

First, he managed to insult him without offending the rest of the room, as most Purebloods, contrary to Nott, have other achievements to show for than their blood, and then he lured him into a rather brilliant trap. He must've guessed that Nott didn't know about the Dark Lords blood-status, and the only way for Nott to defend himself would have been to proclaim the Dark Lord to be the brilliant exception to his prejudice – something a man who barely escaped Azkaban _shouldn't_ do in a room with many high-ranking Ministry-officials.

It was a rather smart piece of manipulation and managed to vanish any of his lingering doubts. He still was caught a little by surprise at the amount of ire and protectiveness he felt when Nott insulted him, which led to his threat, but in the end, it only shows that he already considers him a part of his family.

His gaze falls onto the group of children, occupied with calming a tense-looking Theodore and interrogating Hadrian at the same time. He spoke the warning about hindering their contact not only for the grace of the Blacks but simply because he could. While teaching them early on the things that are important, he believes that they also need to have the chance to be the children they actually are.

He can easily envision Theodore’s father as abusive. He knows Oswald since his childhood, as he has been close to his nephew, and he always had a very short temper and unforgiving nature. He definitely wasn’t the smartest of the lot, but he was a vicious Death Eater, and many feared him. He just hopes that his anger will be directed towards the Blacks, not onto his son.

Not to mention that Hadrian has more than enough to worry about himself. Arcturus thought a lot about Dumbledore during the last few days, and when he talked with Regulus about it, he got the impression that there’s even more to it than what they told him.

“I told you that he has it in him, Walburga’s portrait accepting him was enough of a clue in itself,” Cassiopeia’s smug voice breaks through his silent musings and she links her arm through his.

He inclines his head and smiles slightly, unbothered by admitting it. “Yes, he handled himself well. But I'm curious, did you tell him about the Dark Lord being a Half-blood? Not many people are aware of it.”  
  
“No, I didn't, I didn't even think about it for a long time. But I can see why he brought it up, it was a good way to catch Oswald off guard and save his own face in front of all these people. He didn't even proclaim any sort of allegiance with it.”  
  
“That might be true, but then I wonder how he knows.”  
  
“Well, either Regulus told him, I don't know if he knew but he looked unsurprised, or he did his research. It seems like something he would do; the boy is like a sponge for information.”

“I suppose. Either way, it's not all that important,” he says, stirring them into the direction of the back door. They step outside into the garden, snow covering the grounds. Cassiopeia snorts when she sees Peacocks wandering around and shakes her head.

“I never got Lucius' sense of aesthetics,” she mutters, causing him to smile.

He realises that he missed her. Since she lives in Italy and he lives in France, they don’t see each other all that often, even if it would be easy with a simple Portkey. The two of them are more like siblings than cousins, and while she always travelled a lot, during the years he still lived in England and she returned here occasionally there was at least some semblance of continuity.

“I thought a lot about Dumbledore in the last few days,” she says after they walked in silence for some time, the sound of voices fading behind them and the dark grounds illuminated by lanterns with bluebell-flames dancing inside.

He stays silent, knowing that she will elaborate if she feels like it.

“Not only can his involvement in Sirius' wrongful imprisonment be seen as an aggression against our family, but he also got away with only a slap on his wrist. Then he sent Hadrian to live with those despicable Muggles, and now he tries to interfere in matters that don't concern him. While I trust that Regulus is perfectly able to handle himself, my personal sense of revenge isn't all that satisfied,” she muses, and while she says it all as if she talks about the latest Quidditch results, he can hear the same anger in her voice that festered in himself over the last few days.

“What do you have in mind, then? I gave it some thoughts myself and agree with your overall assessment.”  
  
“The biggest problem is the pedestal England, and most of Europe, in general, is putting him on. His defeat of Grindelwald brought him a lot of influence and his continuous fight against 'the dark' only strengthened that position. Any outright attack on him will be seen as taking a stand against the current popular opinion. But, as we both very well know, everybody has a few skeletons in their closet,” she smiles sharply.

They come to a halt at the edge of a pond, and he turns to smile at her. “I take it you already have something up your sleeve?”

She tilts her head a little, “Kind of, let's say I have some leads. There are definitely some things that are not adding up all that well, but he worked hard to cover his tracks. It will take some time to look into it, but I have a feeling it would be worth it.”

He absent-mindedly cast a Tempus and sees that it’s already close to midnight. “Good, I never liked the man, and if anybody is able to find out something to take him down a peg or two it would be you. I also have some ideas about the whole matter, but I think we should walk back for now. I'd like to have a word with Cygnus, and Narcissa will have our heads if we miss the turn of the year.”

He finds Cygnus and Druella together with Lucretia, and while both of them don't bother to hide their general displeasure over the situation with Hadrian, they’re much more amiable than they were at Yule. Sirius absence undoubtedly helps, and Arcturus appreciates that they presented a united front against Nott Senior. That the Nott family has a rather precarious standing might have been a factor, of course, but as long as nobody starts to air the dirty laundry in public he personally doesn't care much about the reason.

Nobody else dares to outright mention the incident to him, besides the occasional snide remark about Lord Nott of course. That doesn't mean that there’s not an underlying tension; the revelation about the Dark Lord rattled most of the guests, but none of the dark families want to talk about it in the presence of Ministry officials, considering that the majority were at least silent supporters of him.

Unfortunately, he doesn't manage to evade a slightly drunk Fudge, who has as much tact as a troll and didn't get the unspoken note to let the topic rest for now. He endures 15 minutes of rambling about the _surprise_ , and how it could be possible that nobody _knew_ and the _hypocrisy_. He consoles himself with mentioning that Dumbledore at least had to know, and then excuses himself before the Minister can get on another tangent.

In his opinion, the move of the Dark Lord has been rather smart, from a tactical point of view. Arcturus followed his movements closely of course and has known just _who_ he was from the start, and the man had never outright claimed to be a Pureblood. His goals, at least at the beginning of his political ambitions, simply aligned with those of many pure families and so most assumed that he was one of them, especially because he used the opinions about blood to gain support. His claim to be the heir of Slytherin and his infamous ability to speak Parseltongue helped as well. That assumption only got stronger the more he strayed from his original ways, the more he got lost in his pursuit of Muggleborns and Half-bloods and lost all rationality.

He has a strong suspicion about the cause of the Dark Lords' madness, which is also the reason why he doesn't believe him to be truly dead. Seeing that Lucretia and Orion both were at Hogwarts during Tom Riddle’s time, he knew about the rather brilliant mind and his rise in the ranks of Slytherin, and there are scarcely any explanations for the transformation from that to what he became in the end.

It’s another point adding to his worry because while Dumbledore might be a manipulative man with fewer inhibitions than most people think, the Dark Lors is an insane madman who already wanted to kill Hadrian when the boy had only been a year old. Regulus might be able to handle Dumbledore just fine, but the Dark Lord, or both of them, is another thing altogether.

As long as he can still raise his wand, _nobody_ will cost him more members of his family, he already outlived too many of them. He'd never admit it out loud to anyone but his closest family, but the death of his wife, siblings, and son hit him hard. It was the main reason for making Regulus the Head of Family so early, while he theoretically would have been able to stay for another few years, and why he moved to France. That Lucretia stays with him most of the time makes it easier of course, but especially after Melania’s death, living in their home took its toll on him, so the French Manor has been the perfect refuge.

But the events of the last years put things in a new light, and there are a few ideas nagging at his mind that won't be put to rest. He will need to talk things through with Cassiopeia and Lucretia but seeing that everyone is getting together to count down the new year he pushes it out of his mind for now and finds the rest of his remaining family. Maybe celebrating together tonight is kind of symbolic of what is to come, and he wants to enjoy it instead of getting even more grey hair from worrying and reminiscing on things that are better left in the past.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback!! <3

Theo doesn't want to go back home, but he knows that the longer he stalls, the worse it’ll be. At least there are only a few days left until the start of term, and he just hopes that his father won't take out all his anger on him.

He steps through the Floo and stays still for a few seconds, listening for any noises in the dark Manor, but can't hear anything. Sighing softly, he makes his way up to his room, his shoulders tense and hands clenched in his sleeves.

His emotions are all over the place since last night. Not that he didn't anticipate a confrontation between his father and Hadrian, he just didn't think it would go the way it had. At all. Sure, he hoped that Hadrian would get out of it unscathed, but he expected it to be more thanks to Regulus or the other Blacks than by his own doings.

He’s not angry with him either, more impressed with how much ease he handled himself, not to mention the shocker of the _Dark Lord_ being a Half-blood. He’s still not over that fact, and neither were any of the Malfoys. Lucius looked like he swallowed something disgusting and Draco couldn't shut up about it the whole morning. The most amusing part was that Abraxas Malfoy has known if his Portrait is to be believed. He just never told his son about it, for whatever reason.

The intervention from the elder Blacks wasn’t much of a surprise, the threat of a blood feud on the other hand… He doesn't know if he should be thankful for Arcturus Black. While he looks forward to finally not having to keep his distance and forcing his friends to split their time, he also knows without any doubt that his father won't just accept it without bothering him about it.

Arriving in his room, he falls face-first onto his bed, thoughts still racing. He doesn't know how long he’s been lying there when he hears the soft pop of their only house-elf, and he reluctantly turns around, gesturing for the scruffy creature to speak.

“Master Nott says he is wanting to see you in his study,” Swimpy squeaks and Theo groans, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Alright, anything else?” he asks, but the elf shakes her head and disapparates. He stays still for another few seconds before exhaling heavily and getting up. He quickly fixes his rumpled robes, sends another plea to whatever deities would listen that this won't go over too badly, and then makes his way over to his father’s study.

After being allowed to enter he straightens up and walks inside, coming to a halt before the large oak desk and stays silent. He knows better than to just sit down or speak without being allowed to.

His father stares at him for long moments, his eyes as cold and scrutinizing as always, but his lips are pressed together tightly, and he can see the anger lingering in every line of his face. Finally, he nods sharply towards the chair and Theo sits down stiffly.

“So, what did you think about the little show of your _friend_ last night?” his father sneers, and Theo has to keep a tight hold on his own temper and instincts, both screaming at him to either fight or run.

He does neither and holds the gaze of his father. “It was an atrocious insult to our family, father. I'm sorry it happened,” he answers evenly, hoping that it’s at least along the lines of what is expected of him.  
  
“Indeed. To think that an unworthy brat like him dares to put himself on the same level as the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, we can't survive any public confrontations with the Blacks, so you'll be happy to hear that I don't expect you to keep your distance any longer.”  
  
There are a lot of things Theo wants to say, but he only bites down on his tongue, swallows his questions and biting remarks and bows his head. “Thank you, father, I assure you I'm not as keen on it as it may look.”

“Aren't you?” his father mocks with a raised eyebrow, tapping his fingers against his armrest.  
  
It’s not the first time they’re talking about this of course. As soon as they arrived at the Manor from Kings Cross, his father dragged him in here and raged for an hour about the disgrace he brought to the Notts by associating with Hadrian in the first place, what a worthless and disappointing son he was and what in Salazar’s name possessed him to even think about it being acceptable.  
  
Theo tried to assure him that it has been merely out of circumstances because they share a dorm and the rest of his friends are close to him but to no avail. The words tasted bitter and foul in his own mouth and he hated himself for being too much of a coward to stand up to his own father, but the self-preservation within him held him back. He can deal with getting insulted by his father, it’s nothing new and by now he perfected the art of looking chastised when it’s nothing more than white noise in his mind, but he'd rather avoid getting hexed or not getting any food for the next week.  
  
In the end, his father still locked him up for a week and if Swimpy wouldn’t have brought him food of her own volition he doubts his father would’ve remembered, but he has long since come to see this kind of punishment more as a refuge than suffering. At least he can do his homework and read in peace, and it’s unlikely that his father appears out of nowhere. Refusing him any contact with others thankfully includes himself, and Theo would try much more often to provoke his father just enough if he wouldn't be so goddamn unpredictable in his reactions.  
  
“I asked you a question, child!” The snarl snaps him out of his train of thought and he could have cursed himself for not paying attention. His thoughts are just so damn muddled after last night.  
  
“I'm sorry, I thought about how to best explain. Of course, I'm not happy about it. I told you our association was mere coincidence and I understood your wish for me to cut it off,” he answers, his head still bowed.  
  
His father scoffs and he can feel his eyes on him, but he knows that looking up would not help him in the slightest.  
  
“Don’t get smart with me now! Either way, if what you say is true, I’m sure it won't bother you to use this forced association to gather information for me. I want to know _everything,_ and you will provide me every little detail. Seeing that Snape refused my demand to let you change dorms, you shouldn't have much trouble to find something that will aid me in destroying the brat’s reputation, and in the best case, the Blacks as well. They might have won this round, but I'll show them what it means to insult the Dark Lord and our family. Even if _He_ was a Half-blood himself, at least he distanced himself from the dirt and rose above it, fighting for our rights.”  
  
Theo clenches his trembling hands in his lap, noticing the manic gleam in his father’s eyes when he chances a look at him and knows that any sign of refusal or reluctance will get him cursed on the spot.  
  
“Of course father, as you wish,” he replies, glad for the millionth time that his father has absolutely no talent for the mind arts as his sharp gaze cuts into Theo and tells him that he will only believe him if Theo delivers.  
  
Not that he has any intention to do so. He might have grown up with the rules to value his family above anything literally punched into him, but he has absolutely no emotional bond to his father.  
  
His friends have always been there for him though, and he didn't forget Hadrian’s support over the last month of school without ever judging Theo for his father’s demands. He will simply tell them what’s expected of him and hopes that they’ll be able to come up with a solution.  
  
It’s not that his opinion about blood purity is all that different, but he would have to be blind and stupid to not see the power and intelligence Hadrian has at his fingertips, only adding to the influence his heirships grant him. And honestly, the fact that the Dark Lord himself has been a Half-blood just shows that there are obviously exceptions to the rule. He still believes that blood matters to some extent, but he also agrees with the few things Hadrian lets drop from time to time; that education and adaptation matters more and that there would be fewer problems with Muggleborn and Half-bloods if Hogwarts wasn't their first contact and introduction to magic, and that not every Pureblood is automatically more powerful than the rest.  
  
But he knows that he can’t tell his father any of this. He’s obviously bent on more or less ignoring the news about the Dark Lords blood-status, seeing it as a single exception and more like an 'only weakness' in an otherwise perfect leader, and won't take too kindly to Theo’s changing opinions.  
  
He isn't even the only one. He talked a lot about these things with Daphne and Draco during the last weeks of the term, and both are of a similar opinion. It’s a little scary how a single person can change the views that have been taught to them their whole lives, but there’s just no doubt that Hadrian could easily outdo them.  
  
And not only that, he has really come to like and value the other boy. He has a dry humour and while he’s not the most approachable person per se, he always helps with homework or mastering new spells, and Theo can have endless academic discussions with him better than with anybody else. Moreover, he might be just as reserved and detached as all of them, but it’s obvious that he cares about them already.  
  
In the few months of the last term, Theo has come to value him more than his own father, and that says a lot about both. So, there’s not much doubt about his loyalties and while he does a lot to avoid his father’s anger, betraying his friends isn't one of them. But his father doesn't need to know that.  
  
“Good, I expect regular letters from you on that matter, and don't even think about telling anybody about this, we can't allow him or the Blacks to find out. If you do your job well enough, we might even improve our standing in the process, there are a lot of families currently indecisive over what to think about the brat, and his declarations about the Dark Lord just increased this indecisiveness.”  
  
Theo only nods. He has a lot of thoughts about that as well. Hadrian explained to them last night how exactly he came upon that information and it sounded ridiculously easy. It tells a lot about his father and many others that an 11-year old was the first one to do some research on the matter.  
  
Sure, apparently the elder Blacks knew, but they revoked their support of the Dark Lord rather early. Nobody knows exactly why, but by now Theo assumes that it has something to do with the blood status. On the other hand, that doesn't make much sense at all, seeing that they obviously more than just tolerate Hadrian as their heir.  
  
Draco stayed up late last night, ranting about the news. He always has a hard time adjusting his views if something changes. While they both have a temper, Theo strictly follows the premise of gathering information and adjusting his opinions accordingly, and this is simply a case of integrating new information. He definitely needs time to think it all through, and he inwardly pleads that his father dismisses him soon, but he doesn't feel the urge to rant about how 'strange' and 'unfair' all of it is.  
  
“Good. You're dismissed. But I haven’t forgotten that your _friendship_ was what got us into this mess in the first place, so don't even think about leaving your room or eating, understood? And I expect you to do better in the future. I know you're rather worthless for a Nott but it shouldn't be too hard now, should it?!”  
  
Theo clenches his jaw again, breathing slowly to keep his temper in check just a little longer, and bows his head, before finally fleeing the room.  
  
Only four days until the start of term. He’ll need to convince Swimpy into bringing him some books from the library, but it could have gone over much worse. All a matter of perspective.

* * *

Death lingers, obscured in the shadows of the study in Grimmauld Place and observes the current assembly of Blacks. He finds all of them rather endearing, they’re a good family for his little protege, and he’s glad that they took a liking to him.  
  
For an entity like him, matters like blood-status for wizards, or race in the case of Muggles, are such a ridiculous cause for segregation he never got behind. It’s the most common reason for wars together with religion, and he never understood how the mortals could get so fanatic over something with so little consequence.  
  
Honestly, they have such short lives and so many of them choose to waste it with bothering over things that simply don’t matter. Then again, there are only very few things that do matter to him, but at least he can differentiate between those with a reasonable meaning to humans and those that are outright bullshit.  
  
But the Blacks at least seem to have accepted that it isn't that simple and see the potential in Hadrian. From all the influential families in Britain, they’re one of the best choices to support him in the coming years.  
  
They’re currently sitting around the desk, and both Regulus and Hadrian look a little clueless about the reason for this get-together. The other three will leave tomorrow to return home, but they have some news for them.  
  
Death knows about it already of course, not above checking the people around Hadrian out for potential threats and allies, and he approves, but he didn’t tell Hadrian yet as he’s sure it’s going to be a nice surprise.  
  
“We gave the whole situation with Dumbledore and the Dark Lord some thought over the last week, and while we know that you're able to handle yourselves, we have come to a decision about our own involvement,” Arcturus now says, and Death smiles a little at Hadrian’s bewildered expression.  
  
As much as he’s used to living with Regulus by now and mostly left his experiences with the Dursleys behind, has flourished and gained a lot of confidence, he still rarely expects people to do things for him because they actually _like_ him.  
  
There still lingers some self-doubt in his subconsciousness, and while he outwardly and even to himself masks that rather well most of the time, Death can sense it. It’s getting less and less with each passing year, and he’s optimistic that it will only get better, but that kind of childhood, even only 9 years of it, don't simply disappear after a few years of affection and security.  
  
Banishing those thoughts for now, as there’s nothing he can do about it apart from keeping an eye out for any threats, including those towards his self-confidence, he refocuses on the current conversation.  
  
“Yes. I for one want to dig a little into dear Dumbledore’s past, and I think Arcturus is planning to revive some contacts here in England, so to skip all the suspense and so on: we decided that we'll move back to England.”  
  
The room is silent for a few seconds before both Regulus and Hadrian start grinning widely. Hadrian then furrows his brows though, and asks: “Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to do this just for my sake...” he trails off, obviously uncomfortable.  
  
Lucretia smiles softly at him, but it’s Cassiopeia who answers: “Don't worry, if we didn't want to do this we wouldn't, but Lucretia is already traveling constantly between England and France, and I think it will be good for all of us to be closer together. We'll be moving into Black Manor; it will just take us a few months to wrap up our affairs in France and Italy.”  
  
“That's great! Honestly, now I'm not alone with the task of keeping Sirius in line,” Regulus grins, causing the others to laugh.  
  
Death takes his leave then; he mainly wanted to see how this would go. He sometimes cringes at the sentimentality Hadrian provokes in him. When he made the deal with Fate, he didn't expect to become attached to the boy. He'd never admit that out loud to anyone, but here they are.  
  
It’s rare for him to actually _feel_ so much, and it’s a bittersweet experience. He suddenly _worries_ , and he doesn't know what to do with it. Like Hadrian going after the Philosophers Stone for example. They’ve planned it through of course and he doesn't doubt that he’ll succeed, but there are still things that can go wrong and he doesn't like that he’s bound by rules that prevent him from intervening more than he already does. But he’s stretching those rules enough as it is, and while he’s generally one for chaos, he doesn't want to take too much of a risk. There are deities higher than himself, and even he has to accept that.

What worries him even more than the pursuit of the stone is how Hadrian is going to deal with Quirrell. If he follows his plan of stealing the stone before Ostara, he will have to get rid of him somehow. The chances of anyone noticing that the stone is gone and the news subsequently reaching Quirrell are just too high. He approves of Hadrian’s plan to let Atana handle this part, but it’s still on his command and Death fears how the 11-year old is going to handle having it on his conscience.  
  
Hadrian might be unconcerned about it right now, but he has enough experience with mortals, and knows him well enough, to know that there will come a point where realisation hits. Hadrian might be mature for his age and has a rather desensitized relation to death, but that doesn't mean that he won't struggle with the weight of his first murder, however indirectly. Sure, Quirrell would die through the possession sooner or later anyway and as far as Death is concerned, a few minutes of pain from venom is preferable to withering away over weeks, and Hadrian theoretically _knows_ all this, but it isn't just theory.  
  
But there’s no better alternative, and he just hopes that Hadrian will get over it sooner or later. At least he has a good support base around him, and Regulus even knows about the whole disaster. He would be a lot more worried if _he_ was the only one to comfort him. As much as he understands the motives of it, getting consoled about death by, well, Death, is kind of redundant.

* * *

Snape is annoyed. Not just a little, he’s annoyed enough that he left Hogwarts and is currently standing in a forest, throwing curses at trees, which hasn't happened for a _long_ time.

The new term starts tomorrow, and after the staff meeting a few hours ago, Dumbledore kept him back. He already had an idea what the Headmaster wanted, he heard from Lucius what happened at the New Year Gala, but that didn't mean that he actually wanted to talk to _Dumbledore_ about it.  
  
Dumbledore then interrogated him thoroughly; if he knew how Hadrian heard about the Dark Lords' blood status, if he knew why all of the Blacks stood at the boys back, if he knew why the Minister of all people suspected that Dumbledore knew, and so on, and so on.  
  
Snape _doesn't_ know of course, and even if he did he wouldn't have told him. As it is, he received the despicable task of digging into Regulus, Hadrian, and all the other questionable contacts Dumbledore suspects him to have to get more information.  
  
He wonders why it matters so much. Sure, the revelation of the Dark Lord being a Half-blood is shocking, even he can see that, has been thrown upon receiving the news himself – and then he laughed, in the confines of his quarters and after ending the floo-call with Lucius, because it’s also kind of hilarious – but he doesn't get why it matters so much that Hadrian knows, or why it matters that it’s not a secret anymore.  
  
Of course, Dumbledore didn't see the need to inform him, only requested that he finds out as much about it as possible, which made him furious enough that he’s here now. The forest is deadly silent around him, every life-form fled as soon as he started to throw around dark curses without an actual target, but it only serves to calm him down.  
  
When he agreed to act as a spy, he has been aware that it could include giving up information of his friends, as far as he ever called them that, but this is a whole new proportion. There isn’t a threat from the Dark Lord right now and he doesn't want to spy on Regulus or Hadrian, and he despises Dumbledore even more than before. Luckily, the vow protects him actively from giving up anything that could really harm the boy, but nevertheless, the position he’s in makes him feel like he’s suffocating.  
  
And he doesn't even want to start on the whole business with Nott. He knows the man from his own Death Eater days and never liked him. That he forbade his son any contact with Hadrian just refreshed that opinion and it brought him some satisfaction to not give in to his request to have Theo change dorms. Still, while he can handle himself well enough, it’s another enemy on Hadrian’s quickly growing list and to his own horror that actually bothers him, and not only because he vowed to protect him.

But while the whole thing brought him a whole world of trouble already, he applauds Hadrian to a job well done. Letting that bomb drop in a room full of bigoted Purebloods without outright insulting them is a hilarious thing to do, and he can at least admit that he’s intrigued how the boy even knew about it in the first place.  
  
He personally never was that invested in blood purity, as it would be hypocritical on his side, and he wanted to look further into the whole thing. Not that he doesn't believe it, but he wants to know if the Dark Lord ever outright _lied_ about his blood-status or if he simply kept silent about it.  
  
The Dark Lord did many things, but he rarely lied, at least as far as Severus could tell. And it isn't that farfetched to assume that the people he went to school with simply kept their silence or were _convinced_ to keep it, and everybody else just didn’t bother to investigate. He only now realises that he never thought much about the Dark Lords' origins, never really asked just _who_ he was before becoming the Dark Lord, and he suspects he’s not the only one who never questioned his identity.  
  
Especially considering that the Dark Lord proclaimed a strict agenda of blood purity in his later years, the years that are freshest on everybody’s mind and when he gathered most of his followers. People generally don't reach a high age during a war, so there are only a few that actually know anything about his past.  
  
He just wonders if Dumbledore knew,-  and everything from their conversation hinted at the fact that he did – and why it has never been used to discredit him, at least at the beginning of the whole conflict. It might have prevented some families to throw in their lot with the dark.  
  
Of course, in the earlier days, there has been more to his goals than simple supremacy and even in the later years, the recruitment process promised a lot more. Those goals were close or similar to what most Purebloods wanted, and the Dark Lord never was above recruiting Half-bloods as long as they pledged their loyalty – Severus is the living proof of that – but nonetheless, it might have driven some of the more fanatical families away. Like the Notts, who knows?  
  
He can’t see much advantage in Dumbledore’s decision to keep it to himself, and neither can he understand why the man is so bothered about it coming out right now. It didn't even reach the general public yet, rather being one of the secrets that somehow stay within the Pureblood circles. It might have to do with the fact that it’s rather embarrassing for most of them, and while they’re in an uproar about it amongst themselves, they would most likely prefer it not getting out. He has no doubt that most would find a way to justify it somehow, painting the Dark Lord as the acceptable exception, because they would just contradict themselves otherwise. People are amazing at bending the truth to fit their own needs.

  
He more or less calmed down when the term begins, and he doesn't waste much time to catch the origin of his recent troubles and ordering Hadrian into his office.

“While I'm sure that you're above spur-of-the-moment-decisions, I would like to hear just what exactly you thought you were doing when you proclaimed for everyone to hear that the Dark Lord was a Half-blood?” he grinds out, forgoing any social niceties.  
  
He might not have the urge to hex someone any longer, but he’s neither known to let go of his grudges easily. The boy looks slightly surprised, head tilted and brows furrowed.  
  
“Well, seeing that Lord Nott’s problem with me stemmed from my supposed 'inferiority' caused by my blood, I found it important to call him out on his hypocrisy and let him know about the results of my recent research. While I can see that it might become a problem should the Dark Lord return, I don't really know why it's one right now? The Dark Lord will attempt to kill me either way, so...”  
  
Severus pinches the bridge of his nose and throws him an annoyed look. “The _problem_ is that Dumbledore is in a frenzy about how you know about it in the first place, and now expects me to gather information on you, Regulus and more or less everybody else even vaguely connected to you or that blasted gala.”  
  
Hadrian’s eyes widen, but then he looks mostly amused by the news and shakes his head, “Honestly, it's not that difficult to find out. For one, both Cassiopeia and Arcturus Black knew about it, and then you just need to read a few books on genealogy. I mean, Parseltongue isn't a very common ability and from there it's not that hard to find out. You can tell Dumbledore that. You can also tell him that the Blacks are moving back here if you'd like,” he grins slyly, but then adds, “I'm sorry he's bothering you with it though, I didn't expect him to be so invested in it.”  
  
Severus sighs. He understands the reasoning and, just as he suspected, it hasn't been so hard to get the information about the Dark Lord. Really, it shouldn't be such a surprise that Hadrian would find out as much as possible.  
  
“I don't know either. I also don't understand why he felt the need to keep it so tightly under wraps.”  
  
They’re silent, both pondering the possible reasons until Hadrian shrugs. “Who knows, I gave up on trying to understand the Headmasters logic.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Severus says, suppressing a smile. “I have to say, ignoring the circumstances it created for me, it was a rather smart approach you took for handling Nott.”

Hadrian grimaces and chews on his bottom lip. “Well, yes I thought so too. But he kind of took it out on Theo. I don't know what he did exactly, but Theo wasn't in a good mood on the train ride. And his father actually expects him to spy on me, so we now have to come up with stuff he can report back that sounds true but doesn't really give anything away that can damage mine or the Blacks reputation. It's annoying. I mean I suppose it's still better than having to hide that we're friends, but…” he trails off.  
  
Severus can see that he’s uncomfortable and is surprised that he’s sharing this at all. He suspects that there’s a lot more worry than he shows, and he actually shares the sentiment.  
  
If anybody knows what it means to act like you’re spying even if you aren’t, it would be him, and for a child, this is near to impossible. While the consequences if Theo fails might not be as severe as they would have been for him, he doesn't doubt that it won’t be _good_ if Nott discovers that his son is trying to fool him.  
  
It reminds him once more why he hates to be a teacher. He doesn't like the job in the first place, but every year he sees all the children that have horrible home lives, and there simply isn't much he can do about it. Depending on the extent he sometimes approaches them, but he would be the first to admit that he’s not exactly someone who gives off the feeling of comfort, and even for those that don't mind and speak to him anyway, he can't offer much more than talking. The wizarding world lacks a lot when it comes to the protection of children.  
  
“I think you would have lost either way. If the situation stayed as it has been before the holidays you all would have suffered under the strain of keeping up a charade, and as it is now you all need to be careful. But at least Theo can now rely on you as friends, and it isn't too farfetched to portray you as a private person who is careful with his secrets. You manage to keep yours close to your chest, after all.” He finally says, smirking towards the end.  
  
He’s not a fool, after all. While he couldn't even begin to guess what exactly the boy hides, he doesn't doubt that there are a few things. Regulus as well, for that matter. But he also knows that it’s sometimes better to not look too closely and to stay in the unknown.  
  
Hadrian doesn't look alarmed at his jibe and simply smirks right back at him. “True enough. I just wished Theo wouldn't have to deal with this because of me.”  
  
“That I can understand, but you won't make it better by blaming yourself for the narrow-mindedness of other people.”  
  
They wrap their conversation up here, and after taking a few moments to think over how he’s going to pass on the information he was given, he makes his way up to the Headmasters office.  
  
Unfortunately, he’s intercepted by Quirrell on the way, who looks startled when he sees him but quickly straightens up and says: “Se-Severus, g-g-good to see you. I- I had a qu- question, i- it might se-seem a-a-a bit odd but ma-maybe you'll be a-able to help.”  
  
He scowls, having absolutely no intention to help the man with anything. Until Samhain, he simply found him annoying as he has little patience in general, but since the Troll-incident he kept a closer eye on the current DADA teacher and since concluded that there’s something very off about him. It seems out of character, but he has the strong suspicion that Quirrell is after the Philosophers Stone, he just hasn’t figured out yet if it’s for himself or for _someone_ else _._  
  
“I'm on my way to the Headmaster, I don't have much time,” he answers, not stopping in his quick pace.  
  
Quirrell simply keeps up with him though. “I-It's a s-simple qu-question, really, and more p—p-pure curiosity. You see, since the- the students arrived, I-I can't help but no-notice that especially between th-those in you-your ho-house seems to be some up-uproar ab-about news that-that g-got revealed, but they're all v-v-very close-lipped about it. I wondered i-i-if you knew what it is about? It appears to be ra-rather important and scandalous.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow at the other man, wondering what prompted this sudden interest. His instincts scream at him to not indulge him though, and he simply shrugs his shoulders.  
  
“You mistake me for someone who cares about the latest gossip of my students. I don't know, and neither do I care what is the latest fashion trend or whatnot. So, if you excuse me,” he drawls.  
  
For a fleeting moment, Quirrell’s face contorts and Severus could have sworn that there’s a flash of red in his brown eyes, but it’s gone so quickly that he dismisses it as his own paranoia in the light of the Dark Lord being such a prominent topic in the last few days.  
  
Shaking his head, he comes to a halt in front of the Gargoyle and mutters the password under his breath, using the minute riding up the stairs to clear his mind and brace himself for another annoying conversation. Honestly, he just wishes Dumbledore would finally accept his resignation so he could move into a hut in the woods, brewing potions and escape any human contact.  
  
It goes as well as he expected. Dumbledore somewhat calms with his explanation about Hadrian’s source of knowledge (weirdly enough, he still calls him Harry, the only one in the school who does), but he becomes even more alarmed at the news that the Blacks are moving back to England, pressing again the need for Severus to find out what they’re planning, how this decision came to be and just how much influence they’re going to have on Hadrian.  
  
Severus cuts the conversation short when he starts to tell him that he should persuade Regulus to let Hadrian live with Sirius Black. He may be bound to the meddling Headmaster in annoying ways, but he still has some lines he won't cross, and dooming a child to the mutt is one of them. Dumbledore can consider himself lucky that Hadrian somehow managed to convince him to not hate him simply on the base of who his father has been, he won't risk his tolerable character by supporting more influence from any of James Potters _friends._  
  
Thankfully Dumbledore lets it drop with another remark about forgiveness and letting go of schoolboy grudges, but he’s so used to these remarks that he simply sneers and sweeps out of the office. He needs to have a talk with Regulus and probably set up an agreement not so different from that between Hadrian and Theo. Honestly, the boy has brought so much trouble into his life, it’s a miracle he voluntarily spends time with him at all.

* * *

Sirius is standing in the entrance to his new flat, a bag over his shoulder and a little clueless about what exactly he should do with himself now.  
  
It’s the 5th of January and St. Mungo’s finally diagnosed him healthy enough to leave the bloody hospital, and for the first time in nearly 11 years, he is completely free. He would’ve expected to feel more elation if he’s honest. Right now, he only feels kind of lost.  
  
The flat is nice though he thinks while wandering slowly from room to room. The short corridor opens to a big living room, with light, wooden floorboards, and pastel-white walls. To the right is an open kitchen with a high table in the middle, and to the left another corridor that leads to two bedrooms with a bathroom in between.

Only one of them is already furnished, a big four-poster bed tucked into the right corner under the window, and a desk, a wardrobe and some bookshelves lining the walls. He’ll need to visit Grimmauld Place to gather the few things still in his childhood room.

Surprisingly enough the thought doesn't bother him as much as it would have a few weeks ago. Ever since his long talk with Regulus and Arcturus, he’s thinking a lot about his convictions. There are many things he has been wrong about, and he feels like an idiot if he’s honest, at least in the confines of his own mind.  
  
Arcturus didn't deny that his parents have been awful towards them, especially his dear mother, and one of the first things he has been told was that both Arcturus and Cassiopeia tried for many years to convince his parents to treat them less harshly. It was one of the reasons why Orion never received the title as Head of the Family, and why Arcturus didn't follow through with disowning him.  
  
He then learned that Arcturus quit his support of Voldemort early on and that he and Cassiopeia didn't share the opinion of Walburga and Cygnus, but that they also didn't see Dumbledore as a possible alternative – something Sirius agrees with wholeheartedly now.  
  
They talked a lot about values and opinions, and while it’s still difficult for Sirius to admit that he actually has very little knowledge, and made his decision about which side of the war to be on mainly on the base of what his family _didn’t_ want him to do, he can see now that they do have a point in many things. Grudgingly, but he spent many of his therapy sessions with learning to stop lying to himself.  
  
Still, one of the first things he promised himself after finally being out of Azkaban and able to have a clear thought, was to never again take things at face value, so he would have to do research. Which means he needs Remus because he doesn't want to do that alone.  
  
As if summoned by his thoughts, a knock on his front door brings him back to the present, Remus standing on the other side. They planned to go shopping together because while the flat is equipped with the basic necessities, he has nearly no clothes, nothing for the kitchen, and not even his own wand.

They walk the short way to Diagon Alley, and Sirius explains in a low tone what he learned over Yule. He was scared that Remus would instantly be appalled by him questioning his beliefs, but he just looks pensive for a while until he says: “To be honest, I thought a lot about these topics during the last few weeks as well. After all, we were quite young, and we always only heard one side of the story. I'm not saying that I'd be loyal to the Dark Lord, but there _had_ to be something more to it than mindless killing, doesn't it?”  
  
Sirius lets out a relieved breath and nods. “Exactly. And what Arcturus and Regulus told me makes sense if you think about it. I mean, introducing children to the wizarding world and keeping traditions alive... As much as I hated my family, the rituals we did for the holidays never seemed particularly dark to me, and still, most of them are banned today. And if it's true what they say then there weren't as many prejudices against creatures. I'm not saying they were completely fine with it, but the approach was more along the lines of providing them with the means to integrate themselves better than outright banning them. But I don't really know how to... I don't know, validate their claims. I don't think we'll find impartial books in Flourish&Blotts about it, but I also don't want to rely on the family library.”  
  
Remus smiles at him, obviously amused, and Sirius feels his stomach flutter. This happens more and more often within the last weeks, and he’s apprehensive to look at it more closely.  
  
Their relationship before the end of the war has been complicated at best. While they were happy when they’ve still been in school, the pressure and strain of the war took its toll on them. It only got worse, with Remus being away constantly, and the suspicion that festered in all of them the clearer it became that there was a spy in their ranks.

Sirius still isn't over the guilt of suspecting Remus, and apart from going after Peter that fateful night, it’s one of his biggest regrets. He knows that Remus has similar problems with never questioning his guilt, and it’s palpable in their interactions. It doesn't stop his thoughts from straying in that direction more and more often though, and he knows that now that he’s out of the hospital, he would need to confront the whole thing rather sooner than later, at least with himself.  
  
“Well, I think we'll have difficulties finding _one_ book that takes an objective route at comparing both sides, but maybe we can find a few books for each? For the darker topics, we'd have to go into Knockturn though...” Remus says and Sirius flashes him an amused grin.  
  
“Moony, who would have thought?”  
  
The other looks a bit sheepish, but shrugs. “Well, you know, with my condition it's not so unheard of, and seeing that I hardly get a job in _decent_ establishments, I had to look in the places that don't mind the _dark_ nature of me all that much.”  
  
Sirius scowls at the reminder of the prejudices he has to face and wonders how it can be that even after 10 years of the 'light side' dominating politics and public opinion, the very side that claimed to fight for equal rights, nothing of Remus’ situation is any better.  
  
“Alright. Let's go and get me a wand first, and then we can go into Knockturn. It's not as if I don't know my way around there, but I feel better if I have a wand that works for me. I just need to go to Gringotts first, according to Regulus I still have a family vault.”  
  
After they finished their business with the Goblins, they enter Ollivander’s. It takes some time but, in the end, he finds a wand of Hawthorn and Dragon Heartstring. The feeling of finally having a fitting wand again overwhelms him for a moment, and Remus softly squeezes his wrist. He smiles weakly in response, but gathers himself, unwilling to have an emotional breakdown here of all places.  
  
Knockturn is... just as he remembered it, actually. But strangely enough, he doesn't feel as appalled anymore as he did when he was younger. He could acknowledge now that the darkness has a certain familiarity to it, that it somehow feels like he just _belongs_ , and it doesn't cause the crippling self-loathing anymore that it once did.  
  
It was another lengthy discussion at Yule, starting with Hadrian of all people addressing the fact that wizards and witches simply have a natural inclination towards one kind of magic. He’s a Black, there has never been any doubt that his core is dark, and he _knows_ that dark magic comes to him more easily. During his school years he always denied it, but later, in the battles during the war, he fell back on it more often than he ever admitted. In a life-or-death situation you kind of give up on these kinds of things, and there’s a reason why he has been feared among Death Eaters. He hid it as much as he could, and for some lucky reason, nobody from his side ever really noticed the spells he used. Or maybe some did, but nobody cared all that much.  
  
Even the Aurors were allowed to use Unforgivables at some point, so maybe it just hasn't been that much out of the ordinary. Thinking back on it now, he could see that it was a little hypocritical and he shakes his head at himself once more.  
  
They quickly make their way through the narrow alley, ignoring all the other people that lurk in the shadows, and enter a bookshop that is nestled between a more than questionable apothecary and a shop without a description in the first place.  
  
It’s a simple, cramped room, with little light coming through the window and dust dancing in the dim rays that do manage to defy the dirt. There doesn’t seem to be any order. Shelves tower from floor to ceiling, packed with books, and a few piles that are simply scattered on small, unstable looking tables or on the floor.  
  
They don't see a shop owner either but decide to split up and just make their way around in the hope of finding something that could be useful. Remus looks way more excited at the prospect than Sirius feels, but then Remus always had a nearly obsessive love for books.  
  
He sighs but steps in front of a shelf. He knows better than to touch anything and tilts his head to the side to be able to read the titles. After a few minutes, he notices that there’s _some_ order after all, as the books he’s staring at are about lethal potions. He wrinkles his nose and walks on to the next shelf, which turns out to be about history.  
  
He levitates a few promising books, and after checking them for curses resumes his search. Even these little spells make him smile softly.  
  
It takes them nearly an hour, but in the end, they have a remarkable collection between them that ranges from history over traditions to creature rights and politics. Just as he wants to ask Remus if they should search for the owner under the piles of books, a small, frail-looking man appears out of the back and stares at them.  
  
Apparently satisfied with his assessment he nods towards the counter. Ignoring Remus' protest, Sirius pays, and they make their way back towards Diagon Alley.

  
“Did you hear what Hadrian did at the Malfoy gala?” Remus asks him when they returned to his flat, loaded with all their purchases.  
  
He starts sorting stuff into the cupboards in the kitchen and says, “No, do tell,” intrigued what his rather composed godson could have done that has Remus sounding so amused.  
  
“Lord Nott apparently confronted him about his blood status, and Hadrian informed the whole room that Voldemort was a Half-blood. The whole high society of Purebloods is up in arms.”  
  
Sirius already whirled around at the first part of the statement, gaping at Remus in disbelief, and now breaks out in loud laughter.  
  
“Is it true?” he finally asks after getting his breathing back under control, not even really comprehending all the implications.  
  
“Apparently. He told me about it in his last letter, saying that he researched his origins and that his father was a Muggle.”  
  
Sirius snorts again and shakes his head. “And all those idiots... I mean... Why even fight so madly for blood-supremacy then?!”  
  
Remus shrugs but looks just as amused. “I have no idea, but he never struck me as very rational in the first place.”

Sirius hums and turns back, starting to put away groceries.  
  
“Should I cook something?” Remus’ voice is much closer now and Sirius fights the urge to turn around again, only nodding in response.  
  
“You've always been hopeless in the kitchen,” the other murmurs, more to himself.  
  
It causes memories to spring to the forefront of his mind and he has to lean against the counter for a moment. This happens more and more often. Azkaban robbed him of most of his positive memories and he did his best to avoid thinking of them at all, as the Dementors tended to linger at his cell whenever he thought of anything remotely positive.  
  
But it has been three months since he’s free, and with all the treatment and therapy they slowly resurface. It’s a bittersweet process because most of his memories include people he lost or that betrayed them. Or Remus, who, while still _here_ , is further away from him than in those memories.  
  
His strained relationship with Hadrian and Regulus doesn't make it easier either. He knows very well that he mostly has himself to blame for that, another thing that they talked a lot about in therapy.

With Regulus, there’s a lot of painful history between them and the more his general views change, the more he sees that he hasn't been exactly fair to his younger brother. They simply have very different outlooks and approaches to life, and while he'll never be someone to just keep his mouth shut, he started to at least understand why Regulus handled things so differently.  
  
And well, Hadrian... It already started with the fact that he went after Peter instead of insisting to take him, and while his godson never said anything about it, he has an inkling that it’s not simply forgotten. He didn’t make it easier on himself with his outburst on his first visit.  
  
Additionally, he often doesn’t know how to deal with him. Even before their talk during Yule, he noticed the reluctance to talk about James and Lily, and that he never offered up anything personal. Sirius simply doesn’t know what to talk about if he’s honest. Hadrian reminds him a lot of Regulus and it’s obvious how close the two of them are. He’s glad of course that Regulus cared for him, and he isn't directly jealous – well okay, he slightly is and it took him some time and therapy to come to terms with it, but it’s hard on him that his godson, who he vowed to protect, is so distant to him.  
  
He throws another look at Remus, who’s cutting vegetables and humming softly to himself, looking right at home in the kitchen. _His_ kitchen. They talked about it, and while Remus doesn't get much personal stuff out of Hadrian either, they at least bond over their love for knowledge. Sirius is simply a more hands-on person, and while he has always been good at school, he doesn’t have the same love for books and obscure facts.  
  
He sighs, realising that brooding would get him nowhere. Maybe his pursuit of information can serve as a topic between them. And he has to congratulate him on the masterful reveal of the Dark Lords' blood status, of course, he would’ve loved to see the faces of all those idiots that bowed to someone they would normally see as a lesser being. Maybe there’s _some_ mischief in his godson after all.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, over 1000 Kudos, I'm... kind of speechless. Thank you all so much! <33

Returning to Hogwarts irritates Hadrian more than he cares to admit. The holidays haven’t been nearly long enough to recharge, and while he enjoyed the Blacks company immensely, there has been little time for himself.

Nevertheless, the news that Arcturus, Cassiopeia, and Lucretia are moving back to England lifted his spirits. His first thought was that he didn’t want them to upturn their whole lives on his behalf, but he appreciates them too much to actually protest.

Besides, he doubts that he could have convinced them to change their mind anyway, and he knows that their support will be invaluable, even if he wouldn’t have liked them as much as he does.

Still, being back at Hogwarts... is already grating on his nerves. The Slytherins are pestering him with questions about his knowledge of the Dark Lord, and he’s already tired of repeating the same explanation over and over again. Dumbledore is keeping tabs on him even more attentively than during the last term, but now with a frown marring his features, and Quirrell is desperately trying to find out what has the Slytherins in such an uproar.

The possibility of Voldemort finding out about his reveal so soon is one thing he didn’t consider beforehand, and he could have hit himself for missing it. The chance that the man would fly into a fit of rage if he finds out that his well-kept secret has been announced to basically all of his followers that aren’t currently residing in Azkaban, is rather big, and Hadrian isn’t all that sure if that would be worth it. He doesn’t like the idea of having his Defence teacher out for his life already. He only hopes that his housemates will remember the rule of keeping secrets within Slytherin.

What annoys him most though, is Nott Senior’s expectation of Theo to report back to him. He admires that Theo told him and they did come up with a few things he could disclose that are rather harmless, like his occasional use of Parselmagic or that the other Blacks are training him because that aren’t things that can damage his reputation in the circles Nott frequents. But he has a hard time preventing himself from actively distrusting Theo, and he feels even more on edge around his friends than before.

He believes that Theo doesn’t want to betray him in any way, but he knows about the loyalty Pureblood families expect from their children and his generally wary nature isn’t making it easier for him. Not to mention that there are other ways to get information from Theo if his father is determined, and it’s not only Hadrian’s own reputation on the line. Adding to all this that, thanks to him, Theo’s remaining days at home obviously haven’t been the best, his mood during the first few days of the term is rather dour.

A week after the end of the holidays, he receives an invitation from Hagrid and seeing that the groundskeeper sent him a Christmas present, it would have been impolite to refuse. It’s not that he dislikes Hagrid, he just knows where his loyalties lie. He would rather avoid having _anything_ reported back to Dumbledore he doesn’t want him to know, and he doesn’t feel like watching his every word even more than he already does.

He still makes his way down to the wooden hut after his classes finished on Friday and shoves his annoyance into the back of his mind before knocking.

When Hagrid opens the door, he first looks surprised to see him, which quickly morphs into a nervous expression, and a few seconds later a wave of heat hits Hadrian from inside.

“Oh, hello… I, I kinda forgot that you were coming.” Hagrid mumbles and he raises an intrigued eyebrow. That’s strange, he got the note only yesterday.

Ignoring the man’s protests, he slips into the cabin and curiously looks around, while Hagrid simply sighs and starts making tea.

At first sight, he doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so he just sits down, exchanging small talk over how the holidays went and thanking him for the flute Hagrid sent him.

When Hagrid finally sits down, carefully positioning his chair in front of the fire, Hadrian’s gaze falls onto the black, round… _thing_ resting within the flames. Ignoring Hagrid’s protest once more, he crouches down in front of the hearth and studies it carefully.

“Hagrid, please tell me you’re not trying to hatch a dragon,” he says in a flat tone, only just keeping from pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I won it in a card game, isn’t it great?!” Hagrid asks enthusiastically, now that the cat is out of the bag obviously not bothered at all.

“You won a dragon egg? No wait, that’s not even the most important part: you _can’t_ raise a dragon, in a wooden hut, on school grounds!” he says, incredulous that he even has to explain this.

“Nah it’s fine, he’ll be small,” Hagrid waves his concerns away. His first impulse is to protest, but then he decides that it’s not really his problem after all. He’s sure the whole thing will come to light sooner or later, and at least he tried to reason with the man.

Instead, he refocuses on the part of _how_ Hagrid actually received the egg. As illegal as owning them is, dragon eggs are pretty valuable, and he doubts that it’s common praxis for strangers to bet on them in a card game. After a lot of prodding, he finally gets the whole story – which nearly disturbs him more than the whole ‘raising a fucking dragon’ thing.

He decides to not say anything though. After all, while Voldemort may know now how to get past the Cerberus, there still are a few other traps and he doubts the man will go after the stone before he knows what they are and how to get past all of them. And if he lets Hagrid know how much he mucked up, the man might inform Dumbledore, and he _really_ doesn’t want to have to remake all of _his_ plans for the current obstacles.

It’s a gamble, but he trusts Death to notify him should Voldemort get too close for comfort.

After finishing his tea and trying one more time to convince Hagrid to not raise a dragon, without having any luck whatsoever, he makes his way back to school.

 The whole story had reminded him that he still needs to get a feel for the last security of the stone, and Death informed him that the Mirror of Erised is currently hidden in an abandoned classroom. Why, he has no idea, but it only serves his needs, so he doesn’t question it too much.

He avoided it until now. He’s not all that keen on looking into it, he doesn’t know what to expect and the warnings he heard don’t ease his worries. He just has to trust Death to intervene if he should get carried away. As much as he wants to stay away from the bloody thing, he needs to be sure that he'll be able to handle the mirror before he puts up with all the other obstacles. 

He finds an Alcove to quickly slip under his Invisibility Cloak and then follows Death's directions to a room on the 4th floor. Slipping inside, he closes the door behind him and eyes the mirror in the middle of the room sceptically. 

He sighs and shakes his head; stalling won't make it any better. Taking a few steps forward he steels himself and meets the eyes of his own reflection. The image flickers and slowly starts to change. His statue grows in the glass, and other people come into existence. He can see Death, Regulus and the other Blacks, and Blaise, Theo, Draco, Daphne, and Neville. There are other people, but they look more like shadows he can't recognize. Next to him stands a man, blurred and irrecognisable, with an arm around his shoulders, and he raises an intrigued eyebrow. He lets his gaze wander, to countless shadows of people standing behind the group of his closest friends and family. They keep a distance and it appears like they’re all bowing their heads. 

To his and his… partners? feet are piles of books, and upon closer inspection, he can make out that they’re written by him. Ironically _that’s_ what shakes him out of his slight daze and he quickly takes a step back, scowling at the mirror. 

He averts his eyes and thinks about what he saw. Not all of it is a big surprise; he knew he’s ambitious and strives to be successful, and he would take a guess that the position of reverence some of the unidentified people held is a symbol for that, besides the books at his feet.  

He wouldn’t have guessed that not only Death and Regulus would be there, but all his friends and the other Blacks as well, but he could see how it makes sense. He has come to like the company and he _does_ hope that these relationships will only grow. 

What he didn’t expect was a partner. That it’s a guy doesn't bother him all that much, he never thought about his preferences but that probably isn't so out of the ordinary for his age. The wizarding world doesn’t view homosexuality the same way that Muggles do, and the few times he spared the whole topic any thoughts at all, he always thought that gender is one of the least important features. He just didn't think romantic relationships would matter to him _at all,_ much less appear as one of his greatest desires in an already determined form.

He shakes his head again; he can worry about that later. He needs to get back to his dorm to avoid too many questions and tinker with his mental image, so the mirror won't detect his desire for success any longer, and then try out if that works tomorrow.

The next night, he stood in front of the mirror for barely 10 minutes when he feels Dumbledore’s magic fill up the room. It causes his concentration to slip and the image that has been slowly morphing into showing only him and his friends and family, instantly slips back to its original form. He grits his teeth to not visibly react. Dumbledore is disillusioned, and he’d rather avoid letting him know about his sensitivity to magic.

He suspects that there was a ward placed on the room he didn’t notice, which actually makes sense, considering the danger the mirror can pose. He decides to ignore the Headmaster's presence for now and keep to his experiment; it would simply look as if he got lost in the image anyway, and he wants to know if Dumbledore is going to confront or just observe him.

His main problem with fooling the mirror is that he never learned Occlumency in the traditional way. He knows how to compartmentalize his emotions and thoughts, but he never bothered much with the technicality of building up barriers because Death guards his mind against intrusions from outside. He now has to hide things from _himself_ though, which gives him more trouble than he expected. He has to actually believe that he doesn’t desire success and seeing that it has been his main goal since practically forever, it shouldn’t be such a shock that he has a hard time convincing himself otherwise.

It takes him another 15 minutes, but finally, everything hinting at his ambition flickers out of existence. He exhales heavily in relieve and his shoulders slump, but he’s careful to not look too excited. He hesitates another second, but then decides that he doesn’t want to linger just for the sake of seeing what Dumbledore would do – honestly, doesn’t the man feel a bit creepy observing him? – and picks up his cloak, getting ready to leave.

Before he can make his way to the door though, the Headmaster shimmers into existence and graces him with his grandfatherly smile and twinkling eyes.

“I see you found the Mirror of Erised. Did you find out what it does?” Dumbledore asks while walking over to him.

“Headmaster, I didn’t realise you were there!” he exclaims, doing his best to look shocked and a little insecure, “Yes, I think it shows us what we desire the most?”

Dumbledore inclines his head in response and stays silent for a few seconds, looking into the mirror. “What do you see?” he finally asks, and Hadrian has to bite his tongue to not outright snap that it isn’t any of his business.

He ponders his answer; he doesn’t even want to partially tell Dumbledore what his greatest desire is, so he goes with what he thinks the man might want to hear. “My parents, Sir. Sirius, Remus and Regulus too.”

Dumbledore smiles and puts his hand on his shoulder, and he only just restrains himself from cringing. “I’m sure they would be proud of you, my boy. But I feel that I must warn you; I heard that the remaining members of the Black family took an interest in you, as well as other families with children in your house. They may seem friendly to you now, but many of them have been supporters of Voldemort and may not be as well-meaning towards you as they appear. Especially after you revealed the blood-status of their master. I can understand your desire to defend yourself against their prejudice, but that was a rash thing to do.”

Hadrian tilts his head slightly but keeps his gaze on the mirror, carefully choosing his words. “I appreciate your concern Headmaster, but I think I am well protected. What _does_ worry me though lies more within Hogwarts than outside. Did you know Hagrid is currently trying to breed a dragon, Sir? Besides the danger that poses to us students, it would be horrible if Hogwarts' reputation got another hit if this made the press, don’t you think?”

He raises wide, worried eyes to meet the Headmasters. He knows he won’t fool him completely with this little act of innocence, just like he doesn’t buy Dumbledore’s display of genuine worry. Let the man wonder if he’s meaning to threaten him or not. He knows he has to be careful to not antagonize him too much but acting completely compliant and naïve won’t fool Dumbledore for long either. As annoying as he is, he’s not stupid.

As if to confirm that thought, there’s no visible reaction to his last comment. “That is indeed worrisome. Rest assured that I’ll investigate it, my boy. Now, I’ll have to ask you to not search out the mirror again, it will be moved after tonight. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

He only nods in response and quickly leaves the room. On that, they could agree, and he’s rather glad that he will have to confront the mirror only once more.

* * *

After the incident with the mirror and Dumbledore, he falls back quickly into his routines. The teachers flood them with homework, and their little group is now often joined by Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis. They’re friends with Daphne and before the holidays they kept Theo and her company from time to time, so they’re easily integrated into their dynamics.

Tracey has an enthusiasm about Herbology that rivals Neville’s, and the two of them quickly bond over their favourite topic, while Millicent prefers to talk about Quidditch. Both of them are rather quiet and calm, and Hadrian likes them well enough to not mind their presence.

His indifference changes for the better when, a few weeks into term, his patience regarding Draco’s whining finally snaps. Draco took the news about the Dark Lord’s blood-status as a personal insult, and there hasn’t been a day yet when he didn’t lament about how the _poor Pureblood’s_ have been deceived and how _embarrassing_ it is that they all followed a Half-blood and that _at least_ his father didn’t do so willingly, and so on, and so on.

He got a few cutting remarks in return already, mostly from Daphne, Blaise, and Hadrian himself, but they were half-hearted at best as they all hoped he would shut up eventually. But it has been three weeks now and Hadrian finally has enough.

“For Salazar’s sake, Draco, are you really that stupid? The Dark Lord never claimed to be a Pureblood, and even if he had, it doesn’t matter because, to be frank, he was completely insane towards the end anyway. Not to mention that _I’m_ a Half-blood and you can say that there are a few exceptions as many times as you want, it’s still not only insulting but also bullshit. Blood doesn’t matter, only magic and skill does, and the Dark Lord had more power than your whole blasted family combined, so please do me a favour and _shut the fuck up!_ ”

Draco splutters, but before he can come up with a coherent response, Daphne says: “Ignoring the swearing, I agree with most of it. I mean you only have to look at the students, there is no indication of Pureblood’s being automatically superior. The main problem is a general disrespect or ignorance of our culture, and that mostly applies to Muggleborn students.”

“Well, and they can’t really help it, can they?” Tracey asks, and when most of the group looks at her, she shrugs, “I mean, they only get their letters when they’re 11, and Hogwarts doesn’t have any classes for them to catch up. There are only a few books on the matter because most families keep their knowledge to themselves. It’s not like they have that many opportunities to learn, because they won’t ask us if we only ever treat them scornfully.”

Draco’s expression is somewhere between indignation and insecurity, while Theo and Neville look vaguely uncomfortable, most likely for very different reasons. Blaise only appears to be amused by the impending drama and stays quiet.

The discussion goes on like this; Draco tries to defend his point, but between Hadrian and the three girls, the repetition of his fathers’ prejudices doesn’t get him very far. It’s obvious that, while he sees the truth of their arguments, he has a hard time to come to terms with the thought of his father being _wrong_ about something, and he clings to his opinion with stubborn conviction.

It doesn’t bother Hadrian all that much, he knows that the things you were brought up with are difficult to overcome and that it will take time and a bit more maturing for both Draco and Theo to really change their views. At the same time, this exact point is the reason why he’s pleasantly surprised by the fact that Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent are so level-headed and don’t hesitate to voice their opinions on the matter. While their families have officially been neutral or only passive supporters in the last war, he didn’t expect their moderate views on the matter of blood-status, and even less that they’d stand up to the more common opinion in Slytherin. Sure, it’s only towards some of the first years, but he still appreciates the support.

Draco sulks for a few days, but he comes around eventually and at least he finally stops whining, so Hadrian counts it as a win.

* * *

Now that most things are back to normal, he invests more time into his own training and research again. He has a constant exchange of letters with all the Blacks, as well as with Remus and Sirius.

The latter now often writes about the topics he’s researching, after Hadrian reassured him that he doesn’t take it the wrong way that his godfather wants to make sure that what he has been told is the truth. It actually helps their relationship and he gets more comfortable with talking to Sirius.

The most interesting letters are those from Cassiopeia though because she keeps sending him spells to try and books to read. He found another room, even deeper in the dungeon, where he tests out the stuff that won’t be picked up by the wards. Death always accompanies him, making sure that he doesn’t hurt himself or at least could be healed, and occasionally throws in his own advice or things to try.

He wishes that he could use the Room of Requirement because the wards don’t work as well there as they do in the rest of the castle, but he won’t risk it while Voldemort still resides in the school. He would just have to wait another few months until he could try out the more interesting stuff. He thought about asking Snape if he could use his office, considering that the teacher’s quarters might be excluded from the monitoring wards, but in the end, he decides against it. He doesn’t think Snape would say no, but he would rather avoid giving anyone information that can be used against him, and as much as he likes his Potion Professor, he wouldn’t go so far to say he actually trusted him. Not yet, at least.

After his many discussions with Arcturus during the holidays, he also convinced Death to restart on his learning of languages and is currently trying to get used to Ancient Egyptian. It’s a bit more complicated than anything he did before because the writing and overall structure of the language are vastly different from what he already knows, and he has to actually read and write it to really get used to it.

It turns out to be worth it though because, in February, Cassiopeia sends him a book on rituals and blood magic that has a few notes only in Ancient Egyptian. He only ever did rituals for the holidays and they’re comparably harmless, seeing that they’re designed so even children could participate. They’re banned simply because they’re rituals, and it would be too complicated for the Ministry to differentiate, especially because they can’t know what _exactly_ the family rituals entail.

The book Cassiopeia sent him is like a beginner’s guide to those of a darker nature, and she sent a detailed warning with it about what he absolutely _shouldn’t_ attempt to do alone. That still leaves a few he _could_ try though, and he devoured the whole tome in a few nights. It amazes him what he can achieve with these branches of magic; where most spells have only temporary effects, rituals, especially those that involve blood sacrifices, allow permanent and greater results. They also require more payment in the form of offerings, sure, but the easier ones are actually quite manageable.

He ponders for a whole week if he should really take the risk of trying one within Hogwarts grounds, but in the end, the temptation is just too strong. He figures that if he does it during night-time at the far end of the Black Lake, it’s close enough to Hogsmeade that nobody should suspect a student, and with the Cloak, he would be just fine.

It takes him another two weeks to gather everything he needs and finish his preparations, and by then there are only a few days left until the full moon, so he decides to wait because most rituals produce stronger results then.

The only downside is that the full moon falls within the week and he would have preferred a few days to recover if something goes wrong, but he’s too excited to delay it any further. Besides, Death is going to overlook everything, so he hopes it’ll turn out alright.

He chose a ritual that’s going to enhance his physical strength and his primary senses. It was Lucretia who mentioned in her letters that physical training matters just as much as the magical part, especially for duelling, and he was kind of shocked that he never thought about that. The only exercise he ever does is flying, and since he started school, he neglected that as well.

He knows he can’t cover it completely by doing a ritual, but it’s a start and he would get to the actual work-out afterwards. The usefulness of enhanced senses doesn’t even need justification in his opinion, and the ritual itself is easy enough.

So when he’s sure that Theo and Blaise are sleeping, he gathers his small bag with the ingredients he’ll need, slips into his plain, new robes and throws his Invisibility Cloak over himself, and carefully makes his way out of the castle and down the path in the direction of Hogsmeade. The full moon lightens his way just enough to see a few steps ahead of him until he has to take a turn into a group of trees instead of entering the village. By now he’s far enough from the castle that nobody would see his Lumos, and he quickly gets to work.

He draws a circle into the earth, big enough so he can sit comfortably in the middle, and then connects the four opposite points with straight lines, drawing a square within it.

Death appears a few feet away from him, but they only exchange acknowledging nods and otherwise stay silent.

He carefully pulls out the components he ordered and prepared, and sets them at the focal points; Aconite soaked in Re’em blood for strength, the ash of burned Phoenix-feathers for resilience, the fangs of a Vampire for enhanced senses, and a mixture of crushed Dragon and Griffin fangs for enhanced brain power and overall strength respectively.

Next, he empties a vial of Atana’s venom into the circle line. It’ll bind the properties of the other ingredients and channel the magic as soon as he adds his own blood to it and starts the ritual.

The venom fizzles and quickly fills out the whole line but doesn’t seep into the earth. Taking one last breath to brace himself he toes off his shoes and kneels in the middle of the circle, only in his robes and with a ritual knife in his hand.

One reason why he chose this ritual, besides the obvious advantages, has been that it doesn’t require a long, specific wording, so he would be able to get a feeling for the effect of sacrificing his own blood without having to concentrate too much on getting every single word right.

He throws one last look at Death, before straightening up and concentrating solely on the task at hand. Gritting his teeth, he cuts a deep line into his palm, and before he can hesitate repeats the action on the other hand. He quickly drops the knife outside of the circle and then spreads both of his arms to the sides, letting the blood fall to mix with the venom. The mixture starts to emit white smoke and a peculiar scent he can’t place, but he banishes the thoughts from his mind and closes his eyes, beginning to softly chant in Ancient Egyptian.

_“To the goddess of magic, I came here tonight to ask for strength, to ask for improvement in experiencing the world around me. I brought you these offerings, in the hope that you would accept them and my blood I willingly give to you.”_

He can feel more and more magic flow around him, can feel it pouring out of his wounds and re-entering his body through his chest, and he fights to stay upright. He couldn’t have opened his eyes even if he wanted to, the pressure is building around him and the air becomes thick and heavy.

_“I pledge myself to you, I vow to always value the gifts you bestow upon me and to never take your favour for granted,”_ he presses out before the rest of his breath leaves him. The pressure of magic around him rises once more, swirling all around him as if to evaluate him; as if to see if he’s worthy. His head starts to get fuzzy and he barely notices that he knelt over, his forehead pressing into the humid earth.

His last thought before he loses consciousness is that he hopes Death would prevent his wounds from getting into contact with Atana’s venom.

 

When he wakes up again, the first thing he notices is that his head hurts something fierce. Groaning loudly, he sits up, and it takes him longer than he cares to admit to realise that he’s still in the same spot he did the ritual in. The lines he drew are blurred, and all that’s left of any of the ingredients are small piles of ash.

“How long was I out of it?” he asks Death with a hoarse voice, who’s still standing in the same position and chuckles softly at his question.

“Only 10 minutes, I think. It’s not an uncommon reaction to this kind of ritual, your brain needed the time to adjust itself to the changes. So, how do you feel? Notice anything different?”

Right, the actual point of all this. He nearly forgot it over the euphoria the magical input caused. He lets his gaze wander, and slowly takes note of how the shadows between the trees are sharper now, how his ears pick up more sounds than before, and how he can actually distinguish between the smell of soil, of living and dead plants, and the residue smell of the burnt components of the ritual.

A slow smile spreads over his face and he turns his eyes back to Death. “I don’t know about the strength yet, but I’d say it worked!”

“You’ll need to rest though, it will take your body a little time to adjust to the changes as well, so I suggest you clean up and get back to the castle,” Death says, and he nods slowly in response.

His head still hurts and when he stands up, he doesn’t feel all that steady on his feet. Before he does anything else, he lets Death heal the cuts on his hands and gets a Blood-replenisher out of his bag, waiting a few minutes for it to take effect. When he feels steady on his feet once more, he flicks his wand to restore the site to its original state and slips under his cloak again, slowly making his way back.

Atana greets him back in the dorm, against her usual habits still awake to make sure that everything is fine, and he smiles fondly at her worry.

It looks like nobody noticed his absence, and after quickly brushing his teeth and making sure that there’s no dirt clinging to his hair, he slips into bed, asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, completely satisfied with his latest achievement.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your feedback!! <33
> 
> It's already in the warnings for the fic but I want to say it again because it applies to this chapter: there'll be some depiction of violence/blood towards the end of the chapter. It's not too graphic, but yeah.

Getting used to the results of the ritual takes a few days. He constantly jumps because everything around him is louder, more vivid, smells more intense, tastes different – especially meals in the Great Hall make for a whole new experience, and not necessarily in a nice way.

Unexpectedly, his sensitivity to magic and his ability for Legilimency strengthened as well, and he suddenly picks up stray thoughts without even trying to. Some students just think too loudly, just like they do everything else with way too much noise.

Thankfully, between headache-potions and an active effort to close off his mind, it settles after a week, and he begins to appreciate the enhanced abilities. Passive Legilimency can’t be noticed as an attempt by someone with Occlumency barriers, and it presents an easy way to find out who has them in the first place. He quickly discovers that outside of Slytherin, very few students seem to bother with it, especially in the lower years.

The familiarisation with his increased strength serves to be a bit more entertaining. He thought that he would have to actively test it out, seeing that wizards don’t have much physical activity in their everyday life besides a lot of stairs – he was wrong.

He gets his first clue the day after he did the ritual at breakfast. Thanatos delivers another letter from Sirius, who’s writing him that Dumbledore approached him about supporting Sirius in a claim for Hadrian’s custody. While Sirius ‘politely declined’, the attempted meddling still angers Hadrian enough that he bends his spoon in half.

Only Blaise notices before he vanishes the thing and just raises an amused but somewhat knowing eyebrow at him. Hadrian doubts that, as observant as Blaise might be, he actually has an idea how this happened and neither of them speaks about it, so he just pushes the incident from his mind.

He gets his second clue in Potions; he doesn’t think twice about lifting his heavy cauldron from the workstation - and instantly pours the whole content over himself, miscalculating the effort it would take. They’re brewing the Wiggenweal Potion, which doesn’t do anything if applied externally, and even if he would have swallowed a little of it, it only has healing properties, thank Merlin.

That doesn’t save him from Snape keeping him after class and assigning him an essay on the correct way to handle his equipment though. But as long as his Head of House doesn’t expect an honest explanation from him, he bites back his complaints, and from then on is way more careful. He simply shrugs when his friends ask what happened, and even Draco shuts up when he’s ignored after his second attempt.

After a week to adjust to the changes, he starts to go running every other day and researches a few other methods to work out. While there’s no doubt that he’s stronger, he quickly discovers that his stamina is utter _shit_ , plain and simple. His friends don’t question his new-found activity after he tells them that he wants to try out for the Quidditch team next year, and Millicent even joins him from time to time. To his surprise, the whole thing is helping him to feel less tense and he discovers he actually enjoys it.

* * *

Between his own physical and magical training, his classes, his research, studying and practicing with his friends and sometimes just doing nothing but playing Chess or Exploding Snap in the common room, the weeks fly by and before he even knows it, the first week of April is there.

The snow has given way to the first signs of Spring, Atana finally leaves his bed occasionally, and students start to hang out on the grounds of Hogwarts again. It also means that the Easter Holidays are coming close and subsequently, the time to go after the Philosopher’s Stone has finally come.

The train will leave on Saturday the 11th and, seeing that he wants to have time if anything goes wrong as well as needing to deal with Quirrell before he leaves, he scheduled the whole thing for the weekend before. He bemoans for the millionth time that the Concealment Spell of the Blacks only works on written things. It doesn’t sit well with him to have the stone for a whole week while still being at school, but it’s the best he can do, and he just hopes that nobody will notice that it’s missing in the short amount of time.

Regulus will call for an emergency Wizengamot session for… something, so Dumbledore is going to be out of school on Sunday night. That he doesn’t even remember the excuse Regulus will come up with just shows how hyper-focused and nervous he is about the whole thing. 

He feels out of sorts the whole weekend and even has to rewrite two of his essays, but if anybody notices his strange mood, they at least don’t mention it and he could never convey how thankful he is for that even if he tried.

On Sunday evening he goes to bed early, putting an alarm for 2 am. His attempt to get a few hours of sleep mostly fails though, he tosses and turns and when his wand vibrates under his pillow, he’s more tired than before going to bed. He cancels his Silencing Charm and carefully listens to Blaise’s and Theo’s even breathing, and then shoots a Sleeping Charm at both of them for good measure. If Regulus taught him one spell, it’s this one.

He slips out of bed and quickly dresses, lets Atana coil around his shoulders, grabs his already prepared bag and quietly leaves the dorm.

The common room lies dark and silent, the fires long since burned down and only emitting a soft glow that reflects in the windows, making the water of the Black Lake appear even more ominous than it normally does.

He only makes it halfway to the entrance before a voice stops him dead in his tracks. “Hadrian.”

Even said as softly as it was, he still whirls around, his heart beating in his throat as if he has been caught red-handed.

“Daphne! What the hell are you doing here!” he hisses, more sharply than intended.

She stands up from the sofa she’s been sitting on and walks towards him, her head tilted slightly. She’s still wearing her robes, so he suspects that she waited for him, however, she knew that he’s up to something. “Well, I could ask you the same, don’t you think? You’re planning something,” she confirms his thoughts.

Clenching his jaw, he stares at her, mind racing to come up with an excuse that warrants his spooked reaction. Finally, his shoulders slump, and he looks away from her, only half acting. “I need to take care of something. Look, I can’t explain…” he trails off, only now realising that her seeing him leave already poses a risk.

The determined look in her eyes only unsettles him further and he wonders if he should maybe wait another night, just to be safe. But Regulus won’t be able to keep Dumbledore out of the castle a second time.

Her, “I want to come with you,” still startles him and he instantly shakes his head.

“You can’t.”

“Why not?! Because I’m a girl? Because you don’t think I care about you? Do you think I didn’t notice how you got more and more agitated during the last few weeks? This weekend it was worse than ever, and you could obviously use some support.” She crosses her arms over her chest and he absentmindedly remembers her stubbornness with Theo in December.

He’s touched by her concern and her willingness to help him; he indeed didn’t expect her to care that much about him. Still. “No, none of that. It’s just, it’s dangerous and, well, not completely legal.” That’s the understatement of the year, but he already told her more than he wants anyone to know.

“Either you take me with you, or I’m going to Professor Snape right now,” she says, her eyes daring him to object her.

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, looking at her pleadingly. “Daphne, I’m serious. It is completely dangerous and illegal, and you would _at least_ have to take a vow to never, ever speak to anyone about it and I have already half a mind to Obliviate you. The only reason I didn’t yet, is that I never tried the spell and I like you too much to take the risk of frying your brain.”

“Oh well, I’m so touched,” she drawls, but a smile is tugging at the corner of her mouth. Before he can answer she has already drawn her wand and says: “I, Daphne Catherine Greengrass, swear upon my magic that I will never disclose anything that I talk about or experience tonight with Hadrian James Potter-Black. So I say it, so mote it be.”

He only realises that he’s gaping at her when the golden light of the vow already settled into her skin, and Death coughs softly inside of his head.

“So, care to tell me what I agreed to,” she grins at him and he sighs, admitting defeat.

“Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you,” he mutters under his breath while throwing up a Silencing Charm. “We’re going to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, which is currently hidden in the 3rd-floor corridor and guarded by seven traps,” he fidgets slightly and averts his eyes.  “I know what they are and figured out how to get past them, but we can’t leave any evidence that we were there. The wards are dealt with and no matter how many vows you take, I won’t tell you how; you just have to trust me on that. Still want to come?”

Now it’s her turn to stare at him disbelievingly and he smirks faintly. After a few seconds, she straightens up and nods sharply. “Alright, one more question: why?”

“Because otherwise the Dark Lord will do it, and nobody wants his insane, charming self to return. Well, nobody who is sane themselves.”

While she pales, it only seems to strengthen her resolve. “I don’t even want to know why you think that he’s not gone. Let’s do this, I hope your plan is good.”

He smiles softly and pulls out the Invisibility Cloak. “Fair enough. Come on then.”  

They huddle together under the cloak and he casts another Silencing Spell around them before they slowly make their way out of the common room and out of the dungeon. They dodge Peeves on their way and have to press themselves behind a piece of armour once to avoid McGonagall, but otherwise, the castle is silent.

When they arrive in front of the door in the 3rd-floor corridor, Hadrian stops and whispers: “Alright, there’s a Cerberus behind this door, so we need to stay silent until I get it to fall asleep.”

Daphne grimaces but nods, and after throwing another look around he unlocks the door, pulling it open carefully. As soon as it closes behind them, all three heads of the giant beast turn towards them, and he can _feel_ the smelling breath even under the cloak. The thought that enhanced senses do have a few downsides, after all, crosses his mind, but he quickly banishes it to concentrate on the task at hand.

He ignores Daphne’s soft whimper next to him and charms the flute Hagrid gave him to play a soft tune. It doesn’t even take a minute for the intimidating creature to fall asleep, and they both exhale in relief.

Not daring to speak, he gestures towards the trapdoor and together they carefully move the paw that’s covering it. He regrets now that he didn’t talk her through the obstacles beforehand, but there’s nothing for it, and he only whispers: “Devils Snare,” before gesturing for her to jump first.

He would have taken the lead, but he needs to take the flute with him and between a waking Cerberus and a plant, he supposes the latter might be preferable. To her credit, she just sighs and jumps, and after he hears a soft thump, he packs away the cloak and quickly follows.

Thanks to the Devils Snare he lands softly, but it doesn’t take long for it to start wrapping around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Daphne fumble for her wand, and quickly says: “Don’t! Fire could leave marks behind. Just relax, it’ll retreat.”

She only grunts in response but stops moving. He can understand her reluctance perfectly, he’s not enjoying the feeling of slowly losing his ability to move either. Still, he forces his muscles to relax, only squeezing his eyes shut, and shortly after he hears her fall through, the bloody plant lets him follow.

“Okay, before we move on, I tell you what to expect,” he grins at her while rubbing his elbow that took a hit during the fall.

She rolls her eyes but smiles right back, “Fantastic idea. I reckon it’ll only get worse?”

“Actually, not really.” At her incredulous expression, he shrugs. He won’t explain to her the whole backstory of this disaster. “The next room is fairly easy, there are keys flying around and a broom to catch the one that fits the door. I have a spell to find out which, my own broom with me, and I’m a good seeker, so we’re fine. After that comes a giant chess board we’ll have to play across.”

She raises a hand to stop him and furrows her brows. “Can’t we just sneak past the pieces under your cloak? Won’t anyone recognize that it has been played?”

“Believe me, I thought of that and I’d prefer to do it your way, but even ignoring the possibility that it might instantly get the whole set on our back, it would only lead to trouble when we need to make our way back. There is a ward that counts the number of times it has been played, but that has been dealt with.”

To be honest, he would like to blast the whole thing to pieces, but that’s just wishful thinking and slightly destructive tendencies.

She nods in defeat and gestures for him to continue.

“After that, there’s a troll, which we will sneak past on my broom, under the cloak. Then there’s a logic puzzle involving Potions, and that is where you will have to wait for me. Obviously, we can’t use the Potion that’s there, and I have only enough to get in and out for myself.”

She clearly dislikes that immensely but apparently decides that it makes sense. “Alright, and the last one?”

“The Mirror of Erised. As long as I don’t want to _use_ the stone, I will receive it.”

“Well, don’t you?” she asks, kind of confused, and he smirks.

“Who knows, the Mirror doesn’t need to, does it?”

“And that’s all? _Those_ are the safeguards for keeping the _Dark Lord,_ and who knows who else, from one of the most powerful and sought-after Artefacts of the world?” she exclaims, looking for all the world as if he’s trying to take the piss.

“Don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t the one to come up with it. Besides, did you think I’d try this if I didn’t know I could do it? Come on, we don’t have an endless amount of time.”

She shakes her head in exasperation but lets the matter drop, so he helps her up and they make their way into the next room. He casts a Revealing Spell on the lock of the next door, and one of the countless keys glows softly. This is the obstacle he likes the most – granted, way too easy, but at least it provides some fun. A look at the broom that leans against the wall makes him glad that he brought his own; he only did it because he needs a way to get back, but the one provided is in an even worse state than those they had to use in Flying lessons, and he assumes the task of catching the fast key would be at least marginally more difficult on that.

While weaving his way through the throng of keys, eyes fixed on his target, he does a quick check-in with Death. The wards are all dealt with and nobody in the castle noticed anything amiss; so, ignoring the fact that Daphne is along for the ride, everything is going to plan. It doesn’t manage to lessen any of the tension in his muscles, considering they aren’t even halfway through, but it’s enough for him to carefully catch the key in his hand.

He exchanges a quick glance with her to make sure she’s ready and unlocks the door. As soon as it closes behind them, bright lights turn on, making them both jump and then scowl at the chessboard in front of them. Even knowing what to expect, the huge pieces are still intimidating, and he inwardly salutes Daphne for keeping her composure.

“You know, you do beat me at chess more often than not, maybe you should lead the game?” he says after quickly thinking it through. It’s true, while Regulus taught him well enough and he has been confident that he would make it through, Daphne still outmatches him.

“True, you always rely too much on your confidence to predict the next move of your opponent,” she grins slyly while they make their way onto the board. She takes the position of the King and he swaps places with the Queen, choosing to not deign that with an answer.

The game goes swiftly and with losses on both sides. It’s a close call, but they do win in the end without either of them getting hurt and the pieces are already in the process of repairing themselves while they stand in front of the next door.

“Okay, how does your plan to sneak past a troll work, exactly?” she asks while he unshrinks the broom again and pulls out the cloak.

He grimaces slightly because admittedly, this is the weakest solution of them all and having two of them here doesn’t improve the odds. He gestures to the two objects in his hands with a shrug and says: “I know it doesn’t seem like the best idea, but out of all of them, it actually is.”

She’s obviously not convinced but nevertheless gets onto the broom behind him, helping him to adjust the cloak around them.

Steeling himself he opens the door and at the same time kicks off from the floor, flying into the room. It’s smaller than he expected, and the troll stands directly in front of the other door. The smell hits them like a wall, incomparably worse than the breath of the Cerberus could ever be, and he swears that it’s even bigger than the one that wandered the school on Samhain.

Apparently, it still notices that someone or something has entered, because it grunts and takes a step forward, swinging its club blindly. He only barely sways out of the way, but that causes the cloak to slip and their feet become visible. He groans, there’s not much space to dodge or to go higher, and the troll has already spotted them. Or at least the parts that are visible, but that’s enough to swing its club into their general direction.

It only takes a few seconds before he feels an impact on the back of his broom, and Daphne’s short but high scream nearly destroys his sensitive ears. Her fingers are digging painfully into his side, and he just _knows_ that they won’t get past this the way he planned. Atana is hissing obscenities into his ear, mixed with the demand to just let her bite the foul beast, so while he keeps dodging as best as he can, he decides he has to go with Plan B after all.

“Alright, let’s hope that this works,” he mutters while letting his wand drop into his hand. _$Statuto!$_ he hisses and repeats the spell to stop the Troll in place another three times before it finally works well enough to at least temporarily render it unable to move.

He would have preferred to take the same route he used with Blaise all those months ago, but that would be like leaving a sign, saying _“Hadrian Potter has been here.”_

He doesn’t wait to check how long his alternative would hold, just shoots another spell at the door to open and lands them in the next room. Daphne is shaking slightly and leans on him for a few seconds, eyeing the fire that sprung up at both the entrance and the exit warily.

“Come on let’s hurry, if we’re lucky we don’t have to do that again on our way back,” he says and she nods, straightening up.

“What was the spell you used,” she asks while inspecting the potions on the table in the small, dimly lit room.

“Basically, the Parseltongue-version of Petrificus Totalus,” he answers, pulling his own vial out of his bag. “Naturally, it’s stronger, and trolls aren’t as resistant to Parselmagic.”

“Okay, this definitely isn’t enough for both of us, so you have to wait. I’ll try to be quick,” he adds and raises it towards her before taking a carefully measured sip and putting the rest into his pocket.

“Be careful,” is the last thing he hears before stepping through the flames into a vast room. He grumbles slightly; if they put the Troll in here, he would have been perfectly fine. But he supposes even a set-up can’t be that easy after all.

He shakes his head and refocuses on the task at hand, his eyes falling onto the mirror, the only thing standing in the room.

Death confirms once more that everything is going well and that they still have enough time left, so he takes his time in preparing his mindscape. He’s aware that Daphne is waiting for him, but it won’t help if he tries to rush this and while he does appreciate her concern in the first place, he didn’t ask her to come along after all.

It takes him a few minutes, but he finally feels like he buried all of his ambition deep enough and steps in front of the mirror. Just like when he tested his method, his reflection begins to grow older and first Regulus and Death, and then his friends, family and the as of yet unidentified strangers appear beside him. To his surprise, this time they’re accompanied by Remus and Sirius as well, but he currently doesn’t have the mental capacity to wonder when that changed. Instead, he focuses on the feeling of wanting to keep them safe, and on the thought of needing to hide the stone to achieve that.

For a while, nothing happens, and he’s just starting to doubt if this would work after all when the older version of him winks and puts his hand in his pocket. At the same time, a weight appears in _his_ pocket and he can’t help the delighted laugh that escapes him.

He did it! He not only bypassed all those ridiculous obstacles, but he actually outsmarted this bloody, thrice-damned mirror.

_“Little One, you still need to get back. Put that stone away and celebrate when you’re done with it for good,”_ Death’s voice pulls him out of his euphoria, and he sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

He secures the glittering stone in his bag, ignoring his curiosity to inspect it, and drinks the rest of the Potion, before walking back into the small chamber. Daphne is sitting on the floor, with her back resting against the wall and softly rubbing her ankle.

“Did you do it? Did it work?” she perks up as soon as she sees him, and he laughs again.

“Yes! Let’s get out of here, shall we?” he says, most likely grinning like a loon, and holds out his hand to help her up.

He notices her wince when she stands up and sobers, furrowing his brows. “Are you hurt?”

“Yeah the troll got my foot, but it’s alright, I don’t think it’s even broken,” she says, waving a hand.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“And what could you have done about it? “

“I could have – well, I’m actually completely shit at healing – “

“ _You_ are untalented in a branch of magic?” she interrupts teasingly, and he rolls his eyes.

“Actually, yes. But I do have a Pain Reliever, so there’s that,” he says, summoning the vial out of his bag and handing it to her. While she takes the Potion gratefully, he gets the vial that will get them back through the entrance.

“Let’s hope my Spell on the troll still holds,” he says, and she groans.

“This time, try using that first before trying to dodge, okay?”

He huffs, not gracing that with a response and steps through the flames, his wand ready in his hand.

While the troll is twitching slightly and obviously trying to move, he’s not all that successful yet, and supporting some of her weight with an arm around her waist they quickly pass through.

The chess pieces don’t bother them at all and neither do the flying keys.

“Okay, how are we going to pass through the Devils Snare?” she asks, looking up at the tangled mess above them.

“We’ll get on my broom and I cast a Lumos Maxima. While that wouldn’t be enough to cause it to let go once it gets a grip on you, it will retreat for a few seconds that will allow us to fly through,” he explains, once more unshrinking his broom. “After that, I’ll start the Charm on the flute again before opening the trap door, we wait until that beast sleeps, get under the Cloak and walk back to our common room. The only thing you have to worry about is coming up with a story of how you hurt your ankle.”

He grins, his excitement bubbling back up and apparently, it’s enough to infect her because she grins right back at him before they mount the broom.

Thankfully, it goes exactly as planned and 20 Minutes later the wall of the Slytherin common room closes behind them. They stare at each other for a few seconds and start snickering until it finally develops into full-blown laughter they try to cover as much as they can.

They somehow make their way over to one of the sofas and it takes them another 5 minutes to finally calm down, the adrenaline and tension finally giving away for nothing but joy.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” she finally says, shaking her head. “Why in Merlin’s name did they put up security two first years could bypass?!”

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She _did_ take an oath and won’t be able to repeat anything he says... “Because it was designed to do exactly that. Dumbledore is counting on the Dark Lord pursuing the stone, and he hopes I’ll prevent him from it.”

Her expression clouds. “That doesn’t even make sense, but I’m too tired for the specifics. But, why did you do it, then?”

“Well, he didn’t count on me being the one to steal the stone without him noticing,” he smirks at her while running his fingers over his wand.  

She barely covers her snort and asks: “What are you going to do with it, then?”

He only smiles and gets up, “Thanks for coming with me Daphne. If you ever need some gold, or Elixir of Life, you just have to ask.”

Letting him pass up on the question she gets up as well and says: “Well, I didn’t do all that much, did I?”

“Ignoring that you played a fantastic game of chess, you also calmed my nerves, so I suppose it counts,” he grins and receives a slap on his shoulder for his troubles.

“It was fun not being the perfect Heiress for a few hours,” she says lowly when they walk into the direction of their dorms, and he smiles at her. He understands where she’s coming from, and he doesn’t need to say it out loud for her to know that as well.

“I’ll consider taking you with me next time without you needing to threaten me,” he says softly, but with a curl to his lips. “Goodnight, Daphne.”

* * *

It would have been hard not to notice the shift in their relationship the next day. They don’t really manage to keep from sharing knowing grins, but when Draco asks them what happened, they both just shrug and smile.

Hadrian can’t linger too much on the thought anyway. He still has to deal with Quirrell, or rather Voldemort, before he goes home for the holidays. The risk of him finding out that the Stone is gone and then fleeing the castle is just too big.

He already talked it through with Atana and he feels like she’s a little bit too excited about being allowed to bite someone. He doesn’t complain though, he’s too glad that he doesn’t have to do the killing himself. While he knows that Quirrell would die sooner or later from the possession anyway, the thought of being responsible for his death makes him slightly squeamish; that it only makes him ‘slightly squeamish’ worries him more than the thing itself, because he’s sure that _that’s not_ a healthy, normal reaction to more or less killing someone. In the end, it won’t do him any good to linger too much on it though, so he mostly shoves the thoughts deep into the abyss of his mind.

With some information from Death, he has come up with a plan that would secure that nobody will suspect his familiar as the cause of death. While it might not automatically lead to him being blamed, he doesn’t want to risk having to leave her at home because someone claims he can’t control her either.

The fact that Quirrell, or Voldemort – honestly, he has a hard time actually separating it in his mind by now – needs Unicorn blood to survive lessens his guilt even further, and also gives him the perfect opportunity.

So, Thursday night he sneaks out of his dorm at night once again, this time putting on the cloak before entering the common room, Atana wrapped around his shoulders and hissing excitedly.

He has to wait a bit in the entrance hall until Quirrell appears, looking white as a sheet and shaking slightly. Having to hunt down a Unicorn probably does that for you, especially considering the consequences of such an act.

Hadrian’s own heart is beating wildly in his chest and he keeps a careful distance. Even invisible and with a Silencing Spell enveloping him, he fears that he’ll be noticed any second. His worry proves to be for naught though, Quirrell appears to be completely in his own world and is muttering to himself, not sparing a second glance for his surroundings.

They arrive at the forest sooner than Hadrian would have liked, but he clenches his jaw and ignores the churning feeling in his gut, following Quirrell into the forest until they’re far enough that no light from the castle reaches them any longer. Only the soft light from Quirrell’s wand and his bettered sight save him from running into anything or making too much noise.

_$Alright, remember: he might try to speak Parseltongue to you, but you need to ignore him. Be careful to not get cursed, and after you bit him come right back.$_ he hisses, more to reassure himself than Atana.

She seems to know that because instead of sniping at him she just bumps her head against his cheek and slithers down his body. He can see how she resizes herself while making her way towards his DADA teacher, and against his better judgement he’s unable to look away.

Quirrell remains unaware of his impending doom until Atana is directly behind him and already raised her head high with her hood spread, hissing menacingly.

Quirrell whirls around and tries to take a few steps back, but Atana surges and lands her first bite on his shoulder. Quirrell screams, but true to her species she just strikes, again and again, aiming for his throat and preventing any further cries of agony. The blubbering sounds that replace them aren’t much better though, and Hadrian knows they’re going to haunt his dreams for some time.

Quirrell falls to his knees, clutching at his throat and chest, not even trying to reach for his wand which only shows that the venom already started to do its work by disorientating him. It will only get worse from here; next, foam will start to gather in his mouth and nose, his muscles will stop working and start to cramp. While it takes around 20 minutes for the venom to actually kill its victim, there’s no chance of getting any help if nobody is around.

Atana appears to judge her work for a few seconds before making her way back to him, shrinking herself before climbing her way back up around his shoulders. He just wants to turn around, make his way back to the castle and forget all about that gruesome display when Quirrell convulses, and a… black cloud? rises out of his body, hissing as menacingly as Atana did just a few minutes before.

Hadrian freezes in his spot, forgetting all about his Silencing Charm and Invisibility Cloak. His mouth goes dry, he absentmindedly notes that his hands are shaking, and he begs whatever deities might listen that he _will not_ be discovered.

It takes Atana tightening painfully around his neck and Death calling his name sharply within his head to stop the impending panic and for him to notice that he can make out some of the words the wraith of Voldemort is currently spitting. _$Fool… by a simple snake… worthless…$_

The wraith lingers as if to observe the dying man now twitching on the ground, and Hadrian doesn’t dare to move. He knows that it’s kind of stupid because he’s sure it couldn’t even _do_ anything to him, but the whole night put him on edge already so that he doesn’t have it in him to ignore his instincts right now.

Finally, Voldemort’s strange form seems to have seen enough and disappears deeper into the forest.

He exhales in a rush, muttering to himself: “Merlin, if I was in that state, I’d probably possess someone too,” before finally turning around and slowly making his way out of the forest. He can hear Death snort in derision at his statement, but he supposes the nature of his companion’s existence would make it kind of difficult for him to understand.

Apart from that, both Atana and Death stay silent and he’s thankful for that; he absolutely doesn’t feel like answering any questions regarding his emotional state, considering he has no idea himself.

While the whole thing was without any doubt gruesome, he mostly feels… indifferent. And maybe something akin to pity, for both Quirrell and, surprisingly enough, Voldemort. It was glaringly obvious that Quirrell was miserable. Maybe only because of the whole Unicorn-slaying-business but, combined with the knowledge that the man would have died in the end even more slowly, it took some of Hadrian’s guilt, however wrong it may be.

And Voldemort, well. Until his wraith-like form rose from Quirrell, his presence this year has been more of an abstract concept than something he really processed – just like the reality of the once so intimidating Dark Lord existing like _that_. If he’s completely honest it scares him a bit that he feels almost more compassion for having to live as a bodiless wraith for a decade than for the man who had been possessed by it – willingly or not.

He arrives back in his dorm, having made his way back in a daze, and goes through the steps of getting ready for bed mechanically. At least he has the presence of mind to vanish his robes, seeing that Atana got blood all over them, and to clean her up, before finally slipping into bed.

She curls around him and the weight manages to calm him down and ground him. He doesn’t feel like he accomplished anything, but that’s probably for the best; he doesn’t feel like he just orchestrated a murder either, though, and wonders what that says about him.

Right now, he’s only glad that in 2 days he’ll be _home_ , and that everything has gone as well as could be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, finally! I hope you liked how it all went! I'm going to wrap up 1st year in the next 1 or 2 Chapters, and 2nd and 3rd year won't be as extensive I think. There will be a bit more Tom after 1st year though. :)
> 
> I might take a short break after finishing 1st year to go back over the first few Chapters to look over SpaG and stuff and make sure that I won't leave any plotholes, but it won't be too long and if I do I'll let you know for sure. If you have anything you'd like to see you can leave me a comment. I can't promise to include them but I'm open to suggestions. :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your feedback, you're all fantastic!

Hadrian doesn’t get much sleep that night. Every time he drifts off, his dreams confront him with Quirrell’s gurgling sounds, with illusions of black smoke enveloping him, hissing into his ear, only interrupted by flashes of green light and cruel laughter. He gives up at around 5 in the morning, choosing to sit in the common room and trying to read.

Being awake proves to be equally stressing though; after stealing the stone, his anxiety about being found out was suppressed by his focus on the last step of the plan. Now that the confrontation with Quirrell is over, there’s nothing to keep his mind from going over everything that still could go wrong.

He groans and closes his book, concentrating on his link to Death instead. _“Did someone find Quirrell yet?”_

Death sighs, the sound like thunder in the distance. _“No, and I don’t think they will in the near future.”_

He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to. He left the man in the Forbidden Forest; not at the edge, but a good few hundred feet in. Few to no people go for an early morning stroll there and Merlin knows how many creatures could discover him before someone does.

_“When he doesn’t come to his lessons, they will notice that he’s missing though_ ,” he muses, chewing on his bottom lip.

_“They might think there was an emergency he had to attend to. I doubt they’ll start worrying before tomorrow, to be honest.”_

He only grunts noncommittally and starts to levitate things that are lying around in the common room. It doesn’t manage to release any of his pent-up energy, not even wandlessly, and when he casts a Tempus and it’s _still_ barely 6 am, he jumps up, unable to just sit and wait any longer.

He silently slips back into his dorm and changes his robes for comfortable trousers and a thin hoodie. He could as well go running before he implodes from sheer nerves, at least by now he won’t be out within curfew.

Mist is hanging low over the grounds and above the surface of the Black Lake, and the sun just starts to creep over the mountain tops in the distance, painting everything in soft, washed-out colours. He shivers slightly in the cold morning air, but it clears his head and he quickly walks towards the edge of the lake, stretching his arms as he goes.

He avoids looking into the direction of the forest, just concentrating on his breathing and slowly increasing his speed until he reaches a comfortable level. The month worth of exercise is beginning to show, and he alternates between running and walking for nearly an hour before returning to the castle.

After taking a shower he makes his way up to the Great Hall with his friends, now acutely aware that he has barely eaten any dinner last night. But while his run took the edge off, he still feels a wave of nervousness wash over him when they enter and his eyes fall on the Head Table. He tries to distract himself by listening to Daphne and Theo bickering, and Millicent’s analysis of the latest Quidditch match, but he loses track of the conversations so often that he gives up halfway through breakfast.

It doesn’t take long for Blaise to notice his mood and to raise a questioning brow at him, but he shakes his head minutely and once again thanks the deities for Blaise’s gift of knowing when to push and when to let something be.

Fortunately, their only class on Friday is Potions and he can let himself fall into the familiar motions of brewing. While his heart isn’t in it as much as usual, and his mind keeps wandering back to the hidden stone in his trunk and, if he doesn’t pay attention, to Quirrell’s bleeding body on the forest floor, his Sleeping Draught still turns out well enough and any further questions are prevented by Finnigan and Weasley blowing up their cauldron. _Again_.

The downside of having no classes in the afternoon is that he now has nothing to do; it’s probably the first time that books don’t manage to distract him. He feels like any second now somebody will jump up from behind him and disclose all the crimes he committed within the last week. He knows that it’s completely irrational and that Death would warn him in advance, but he feels that if he doesn’t _move,_ he’ll inevitably get caught. He contemplates slipping away to practise some spells, but the fact that it’s just another thing he doesn’t want discovered squashes that idea immediately.

It’s Tracey who prevents him from going mad, dragging him off to find Neville to go to the Greenhouse. He didn’t even think about the possibility of gardening to calm his fraying nerves, but besides leaving for home right now, it’s the next best thing to fill the time until dinner.

He lets his mind wander, not really listening to Neville and Tracey discussing the latest discoveries in Herbology, and apparently misses Neville trying to get his attention until Tracey nudges him a bit more forcefully than strictly necessary, making him jump and then scowl at her.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself he turns to Neville. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. What did you say?”

Neville looks slightly nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. While he’s still very quiet and timid, he has become more confident since he started spending time with them and it’s rare that he actually stutters or is too scared to speak. Granted, he’s still clumsy, and Snape could make him cower if he puts his mind to it but seeing him so hesitant now shows how far he has come.

Before he can start to really worry, Neville smiles, a bit strained but proud. “I finally convinced my grandmother to get me a new wand over the summer holidays.”

Hadrian grins, it took some serious and patient persuasion to get Neville to see that having his own wand doesn’t mean that he dishonours his father, and it has been even more complicated to convince his grandmother of the same thing. Why, he has no idea, seeing that the woman is old enough to know what a fickle thing the relationship between a wizard and his wand is, but people get all kind of strange about their lost loved ones.

“That’s great Neville! I’m sure a lot of stuff will come way more easily to you next year,” he says, but then remembers Neville’s fidgeting and asks: “Why were you nervous to tell me, though? I told you a new wand would be a good idea for months.”

Neville blushes and averts his eyes, and Hadrian suppresses the urge to shake him until he understands that there’s no need to be so anxious around him. Some things can’t be forced, however much he wants them to be.

“I didn’t know if you would care…” Neville mumbles so quietly he nearly misses it.

Instead of throttling him he only smiles softly. “Of course I care, you prat. It’s obvious you’re talented and when you finally have a wand that suits you, maybe you’ll be able to see it too.”

Neville blushes even more. “Not as good as you, I’m sure.”

“Well, I’m a prodigy, that’s not fair,” he smirks, wanting to dissolve the tension. “I’m sure you’ll be able to beat Draco though, he’s too lazy for his own good.”

Tracey, who wandered off a bit during their conversation, snorts and Neville laughs, and they fall easily into a discussion over their homework. He realises that, while he loves the sharp tongues of Blaise and Daphne, sometimes the calm and smoother attitude of Neville and, more recently Tracey, is more relaxing to be around. Especially right now it’s a lot easier to let go of some of his tension, holed up in the warm Greenhouse between harmless plants and jokes.  

When they return to the castle for dinner, Quirrell’s absence has been noticed by the staff but just as Death predicted, nobody appears to be all that worried about it yet. The evening drags on just as much as the whole day did and he’s utterly exhausted when he finally falls into bed.

That doesn’t mean his night goes any better than the last though, and he drags his feet on the way to breakfast the next day. At least the train leaves right after and there are only a handful of students who go home for the holidays – from their group, only Daphne and him.

She’s telling him about the planned visit of her grandparents when they step out of the castle to make their way to the horseless carriages. Only that they’re not horseless anymore, and it takes him embarrassingly long to comprehend that he’s seeing _Thestrals_ , and _why_ he can see them now.

Fortunately, Daphne is too immersed in her rant about the way there are already negotiations about marriage contracts for her little sister, and he quickly averts his eyes. He doesn’t need anyone to question him on what changed between coming back from the Yule holidays and now, as hard to ignore as the imposing forms of the Thestrals are.

When the train finally leaves the station, he slumps into his seat in relief and Daphne smiles knowingly at him. They didn’t talk again about the night nearly a week ago, and they don’t do now either, but it’s surprisingly nice to have someone who’s aware of the magnitude of making it out of the school. It would take finally arriving at Grimmauld Place to get rid of all his anxiety but sharing the knowledge soothes some of his frayed nerves, not only because he doesn’t have to pretend so much that nothing is amiss.

The rest of the train ride passes uneventfully between playing a few games of chess and reading, but he still feels drained when they arrive at Kings Cross. The stress and the lack of sleep of the last week are taking its toll after all, and he’s glad that, after a quick goodbye to Daphne, Regulus quickly apparates them home.

He barely notices the worried look in Regulus’ eyes before he’s pulled into a hug he instantly returns, burying his head in Regulus shoulder and digging his fingers into the soft robes. All the pent-up stress and suppressed emotions finally break free and to his own shock, he can feel tears burning in his eyes and hear a sob escape him before he even knows what’s happening.

He doesn’t try to hold it back, too exhausted and wrung out to care. If he has to have a breakdown, then having it here and now is the best option anyway.

Regulus only hugs him tighter, running fingers through his hair and letting him cry for Merlin only knows how long, until his sobs finally subside and only a faint headache is left. He does actually feel better now, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders and calmness replaces the knot in his chest he has gotten so used to during the last few weeks.

“Come on, let’s go to the library,” Regulus says when he finally pulls back and he smiles faintly at the reminder that he’s home, that Regulus knows exactly what he needs right now.

They settle down on the couch in front of the fire, Regulus' arm staying around his shoulder even when Kreacher brings them hot chocolate and coffee. He knows he doesn’t have to tell him anything if he doesn’t want to, and he loves him all the more for it, but he actually wants to share what happened in greater detail than in his letters.

When he starts out with the way Daphne ambushed him and how he made her take a vow Regulus mumbles, “smart kid,” under his breath, but otherwise, he doesn’t interrupt while he retells his pursuit of the stone.

“That nearly sounds too good to be true,” Regulus comments with an amused grin when he finished his story. “Wouldn’t it be possible for Dumbledore to detect the use of Parselmagic on the Troll though?”

“Hm, he could have if he had checked within the next day, and then only if he looked for it deliberately. At first sight, it would just look like powerful magic, if he examined it more closely like dark magic, and only if he knew to search for it, he could have found out. And I think he would rather suspect Voldemort than me, even if he already knew that I was a Parselmouth. By now all traces should be gone anyway.”

“Alright, that’s good.” Regulus looks hesitant for a second before he asks after Quirrell.

He grimaces but says: “Let’s just say that Atana dealt with it. Voldemort left before he died and Quirrell’s body hasn’t been found yet, but I think with his disappearance they will soon check on the stone and connect him to it being gone. If they find him, they will most likely think that he has been killed by someone over it. Dumbledore will probably make the connection to Voldemort, even without knowing that he possessed Quirrell, but all in all, that just works in our favour I suppose.”  

Regulus hums in response and pulls him closer, and they spend the rest of the evening huddled together and talking about things that have nothing to do with Voldemort, the Stone or Hogwarts.

* * *

They spend the two weeks of holidays as peacefully as they can, between the library, the Potions lab, duelling and flying at Black Manor, and it goes a long way for Hadrian in dealing with the happenings at school. They also start to examine the stone, both more than curious. The aura it gives off is powerful beyond belief, and they experiment with the Healing Potions Hadrian normally does with Snape in combination with the Elixir of Life.

Regulus managed to find a way to extract it, courtesy to working in the Department of Mysteries, and the results are impressive. While they could never use them with anyone else if they don’t want to give anything away, they do store a few batches in the secret room behind the library, where they also keep the Horcruxes and everything else nobody should ever find.

After a week, Death appears when they’re eating dinner. “Dumbledore has finally noticed that the stone is gone,” he informs them, amusement ringing in his voice. “He’s frantic, but currently keeping it under wraps and only told Snape about it. Just as expected he thinks there’s a connection between Quirrell’s disappearance and Voldemort and he hopes that Snape will be called in soon if that’s the case.”

“Perfect!” Hadrian exclaims cheerfully, the last bit of worry leaving him. “Fantastic when things go as planned. Do you have a theory of what he will do when nothing happens?”

“Difficult to say. I think he will think for a long time that Voldemort might be laying low for the time being, or he will disregard his assumption when Snape’s mark doesn’t change.” Death says, tilting his head. “If he ceases to suspect Voldemort, I think he will assume that Quirrell worked for someone else. It’s not like there aren’t many people who would love to get their hands on the stone. But he’s convinced that it must have been an adult or at least a 7th year who managed to get past the defences without tripping the wards.”  

“In short, it couldn’t have gone better,” Regulus grins but sobers quickly. “Are there any news on Quirrell? I find it kind of strange that he hasn’t been found yet, as far as I know, the Centaurs do have contact with Hagrid and know a lot of what’s going on in the forest.”

“The herd of Thestrals found him first,” Death states so matter-of-factly that it takes Hadrian a moment to get the meaning.

“But… Merlin this is fucked up. Isn’t it poisonous for them to… you know?” he scrunches up his nose, not knowing how to feel about this.

“Well… If he was already dead for a few hours it wouldn’t be much of a problem, but it is kind of dishonourable,” Regulus says, looking at him with worried eyes.

“It’s not the biggest surprise, seeing that I left him in the forest after all. At least this way nobody will even be able to tell that it was a snake that killed him in the first place. It’s not a nice end to it but rotting on the forest floor for whoever knows how long isn’t either, so…” he trails off and shrugs awkwardly.

“That’s true, I suppose,” Regulus sighs, and thankfully they let the topic rest after that.

While he doesn’t feel good or in any way comfortable with the whole thing, he has more or less come to terms with it and returned to a mostly undisturbed sleep since the first night at home. He supposes that it’s not the most normal reaction to it all, but he won’t beat himself up for not feeling like shit.

* * *

The only other noteworthy event of the holidays is a meeting with Sirius and Remus. Hadrian dreaded it a bit, hesitant to disturb the two weeks of peace he finally has, but it goes far better than expected.

Sirius is much calmer than the few times he’s seen him before, and they spend a nice day in Muggle London. He admits that his research mostly confirmed what Regulus told him in the first place and that if the war is ever going to start again, he would at least try to stay neutral.

Considering that he doesn’t know about the reason for Voldemort’s insanity, and Regulus and Hadrian wouldn’t fight for the dark under a mad Dark Lord either, it’s a better outcome than they could have hoped for. 

Remus apparently agrees with Sirius and he and Hadrian get into a long discussion over how it would be better if they taught responsible use of some of the Dark Art’s at school instead of demonizing it, which leads to students trying them without any guidance, something that can go horribly wrong. It’s kind of obvious that Remus wants to know about _his_ handling of it, and to his own surprise he doesn’t mind telling him that Cassiopeia started to tutor him, even enjoys talking about his progress.

He still doesn’t tell him about all the stuff he does by himself, especially not the ritual, and not only because he can’t tell him about Death being there if something goes wrong, but that’s actually more because of Sirius listening in than actual mistrust.

He doesn’t mistrust Sirius with it either anymore, but he can see that his godfather is still worried. Seeing that there are serious risks in practicing the Dark Art’s, not only through misfiring spells or rituals that go wrong but the possibility of developing an addiction or going mad on the rush of power, it’s not that unjustified and rather responsible.

When they say their goodbyes at the end of the day, he marvels at how far they’ve come within the six months Sirius is free now. He knows there will still be conflicts and he doesn’t even want to imagine the reaction if Sirius and Remus ever find out about his and Regulus’ plans for the Dark Lord, but for now, it’s nice as it is. Even the tension between Regulus and Sirius seems to have lessened a bit and he can see that it’s good for Regulus.

* * *

In the end, the holidays are over way too soon, but he consoles himself with the fact that there are only a little more than two months left until summer.

By now, Dumbledore informed the other teachers about the disappearance of the stone and it’s clear that they’re all on edge. The official announcement about Quirrell’s sudden disappearance is that he had a family emergency, and none of the students seem to care all that much. He’s replaced by an Auror who suffered an injury in the field and at least does valuable classes, so everyone is kind of glad to have a competent teacher before the start of exams.

The remaining weeks of the school year pass uneventfully for the most part. He finally spends a weekend exploring the Room of Hidden Things with Death by his side, but apart from a few old books, most of it is junk he has no use for. He does start to do his own training there, taking advantage of being able to set it up to his wishes. He still exchanges regular letters with Cassiopeia, but he doesn’t touch most of the darker stuff she sends him, feeling more comfortable with doing that in the security of Grimmauld Place when he’ll be home in a few weeks anyway.

He doesn’t show the room to his friends just yet. He can’t even say why exactly, just that it’s nice to have a place in the castle where he knows nobody would find him.

That doesn’t mean that he spends less time with them though. More often than not they all meet up to do their homework in the library where he bickers with Blaise and Draco, or they hang out in their room in the dungeon, practicing spells. He still goes running, often accompanied by Millicent, and sometimes joins Neville and Tracey in the Greenhouse. And of course, he still helps Theo with writing letters to his father.

After consulting with Cassiopeia, they inform him of the planned return of the Blacks to England, a week before it would have become official, and they sometimes put in details with no greater consequence, like him staying with Regulus instead of moving in with Sirius or that he sometimes ‘just disappears’. For now, it appears to satisfy Nott Senior’s requirements and Hadrian just hopes that it’ll be enough for Theo to not have a completely horrible summer. He offers him to visit Grimmauld of course, but they both know that it would be a bad idea.

He also still has his extra lessons with Snape, and they make a lot of progress on the potions they’re experimenting with. While Snape hides it well, he still notices that his Head of House is more stressed now, and he feels a bit remorseful, knowing that it’s most likely because of the fear of Voldemort’s return. He can’t even imagine the strain of spying on Voldemort of all people. While he does feel sorry, he knows he can’t alleviate any of it, so he acts like he doesn’t notice the slight change of behaviour or that Snape snaps at him more often than before.

At the end of May, Quirrell’s remains are found. He only learns about it from Death, as Dumbledore keeps the whole thing tightly under wraps. Apparently, he made the connection of Quirrell’s disappearance, the sudden stop oft Unicorns getting injured and the stolen Stone, and _finally_ concluded that Quirrell must have been possessed or at least been working for Voldemort, which led to him being absolutely convinced now that Voldemort has the stone.

According to Remus and Sirius, Dumbledore even reached out to old members of his organisation of the first war and wants to reinstate the Order of the Phoenix. At the same time, he doesn’t disclose the story of hiding the Philosopher’s Stone in a school full of children, so while most members agree to keep eyes and ears open, nobody sees it with as much urgency as the Headmaster.

Hadrian only shakes his head at the whole story because honestly, if that’s the way the leader of the resistance handles things, he’s not all that surprised that Voldemort nearly won the first time around and that Dumbledore now places all his hope onto a first-year.

He won’t complain though; Dumbledore spreading a false sense of danger will only serve to discredit him further among his own people, especially with the way he rarely gives away any real information.

Soon, it’s the beginning of June and most students start to work themselves into a frenzy about the coming exams. It becomes a common occurrence to find 5th and 7th years passed out in the common room or the library, faces pressed onto books and scrolls and eyes wide and panicked as soon as they wake up.

Hadrian personally isn’t all that worried, but he still revises with his friends and especially helps Neville to find some confidence even for Potions.

It’s the last week before the holidays when Atana greets him one morning, looking way too excited. _$Hatchling, I want to come with you today.$_

He furrows his brows, wondering what brought this on. _$Sure, if you want to. Why though?$_

_$It’s time that everyone learns what a beautiful familiar you have.$_ she replies haughtily, flicking her tail against his nose as if he should have known this. He realises only now that it’s way too warm to wear robes and there will be no way to hide her, even in her smaller form.

He groans. _$Really? Don’t you think my year has been exciting enough?$_

_$Honestly$_ she huffs and would have most likely rolled her eyes at him if she could. _$Think about it, it’s smartest to do it now. You’ll only have a few days until everybody goes home and forgets about it, then next year you don’t have to worry about it so much.$_

He tilts his head, thinking about it and seeing that she does have a point, even if he doubts that it will be so easy _. $Fair enough. But no scaring other students on purpose, and you stay small, alright?!$_

She grumbles but otherwise doesn’t deign that with an answer, just curling around his shoulders. He only sighs, resigning himself to another week of too much attention. Go out with a bang and all that.

When he finally leaves his dorm, Blaise is the first to notice, but it’s Draco who comments. “You… Are you going to take her with you?”

Hadrian grins at his wary look. Out of his friends, Draco has the most amusing reaction to Atana. It’s obvious that he’s as fascinated as he’s scared of her, and she might enjoy toying with him a little bit too much.

“She insisted,” he shrugs and starts to follow Daphne and Theo out of the common room. Blaise’s hand on his arm holds him back though and he raises an amused brow at him, wondering what he could want. He would have thought that Blaise would look forward to the outcry instead of looking nearly worried.

After a quick look around, Blaise says in a low voice: “Didn’t you spent the better part of the year with making everyone believe you’re practically nice and harmless? Isn’t this, you know, kind of counterproductive?”

He’s stunned for a moment before starting to grin and throws an arm around Blaise’s shoulders, much to Atana’s annoyance. “My, I didn’t know you cared,” he smirks, but then softens his smile a bit because he appreciates the concern. “While you’re quite right, I partially did that so they would bounce back more easily from a revelation like this. Most of them will be scandalised for the following week, forget all about it during the holidays, and next term it will be more or less normal, just the odd little thing about the helpful boy-who-lived.”

Blaise laughs and shakes his head at him. “I should have guessed that you thought this through.”

“That you should,” he nods in mock seriousness, letting go of him and making his way over to the entrance.

“You’re a bit mental though, you know that, right?”

He only flashes a manic grin in response, and they change the topic when they catch up with the rest of their friends.

Nobody except the Slytherin’s really notices Atana during breakfast, and they’re already used to her even in her original size. But when they leave the Great Hall it doesn’t take long for the first students to break out into whispers and stares.

It’s McGonagall who confronts him in the Entrance Hall, her lips pinched. “Mr. Potter-Black, you have a snake around your shoulders!”

Maybe his good mood about soon returning home overwhelms him because he doesn’t think twice about saying dryly: “I’ve noticed.” He instantly sees that this wasn’t his smartest move, but honestly, what is it with people pointing out the obvious? Does anybody really think he wouldn’t realise that there’s a snake curled around his shoulders? Even with her being currently ‘only’ 20 inches long, it’s kind of hard to miss.

Students slow down and stop around them, eager to see what’s going on and finding out where the snake came from, and he sighs inwardly at the dramatics of it all. Atana, on the other hand, enjoys the attention thoroughly, swaying her head from left to right and flicking her tongue, while keeping up a steady commentary on all the exciting and conflicting smells.

Apparently, McGonagall finally realises that he doesn’t intend to elaborate, her lips pressed together even more thinly, and her eyebrows raised. “Let me rephrase that, then. _Why_ do you have a snake with you? I surely don’t need to tell you that Hogwarts doesn’t allow dangerous animals as pets.”

As usual, Atana doesn’t take too kindly to being called a pet and slips into a string of insults, but thankfully heeds his warning about not scaring anyone. Still, he has to actively fight against his amusement showing on his face when she drops several comments about the inferiority of the ‘cat-woman,’ and how she knows who of them is more of an actual pet.

“I’m aware, Professor McGonagall, but Atana is my familiar,” he says calmly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the instantly increasing whispers around them.

“Be that as it may, it is still too dangerous, you have no way of knowing that she won’t harm any students!”

He knows that he could draw this out, could argue that Atana didn’t harm anyone the whole school year and probably even get some Slytherin’s to vouch for him, and if it had been Dumbledore, he would have done exactly that. But he can see that McGonagall is getting frustrated, her cheeks slightly flushed in anger, and he doesn’t have any reason to rile her up, seeing that he actually likes her, as a teacher at least.

“I’m a Parselmouth, Professor. She knows not to harm anyone and didn’t do so for the whole school year. Professor Snape is aware that I have her with me, she just mostly stayed in my dorm during the colder months,” he explains but gets the impression that most of what he said after ‘Parselmouth’ got lost.

He can hear Ron Weasley shouting: “I told you so!” over and over again somewhere and observes in faint amusement how many of the students look conflicted between fear, disbelieve and interest.

To her credit, McGonagall doesn’t lose her composure and he can’t tell what she actually thinks about it, although her distaste for the rapidly spreading gossip is hard to miss. She pinches the bridge of her nose before nodding sharply and says: “Very well then, seeing that the school rules allow familiars and these are special circumstances, I think there won’t be any further problems.” She looks like she wants to say more, but in the end, she just turns around and leaves. Maybe he should warn Snape to expect questions about his storage of antidotes.

Blaise’s and Daphne’s quiet laughter breaks him out of his musings, and they pull him along into the direction of the Defence classroom. He catches scraps of conversations on their way, “But he always seems so nice…“ – “… a Slytherin after all…” – “…to hear him speak it?”

It’s going to be a _long_ last week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it, 1st year is done! :)  
> As I said last chapter, I'm going to take a break to go over the earlier stuff. I think it will take me ~3 to 4 weeks, so I'll be back in the middle of September I think. :) 
> 
> If you like, you can follow me on [tumblr](https://queenofthedagger.tumblr.com/), I sometimes post Moodboards or Snippets and stuff. <3


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! :)  
> Because it has been nearly a month, I put a summary of what happened up until now in the notes if you need it. 
> 
> What's more, and even more exciting, is that there's now a beautiful piece of art for this fic, done by Total_Sinner as a part of the Tomarry WIP Big Bang. It's at the beginning of the Chapter and I'm completely in love with it. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened until now:  
> Hadrian lives with Regulus since he's been 9 years old and between him and Death, gathered a lot of knowledge and skill. Death told them about the Prophecy and the Horcruxes - the latter something that Regulus researched for the last decade in the Department of Mysteries. They decided to take the chance to restore Voldemort's sanity when the time comes.  
> Hadrian's first year at Hogwarts has been eventful; sorted into Slytherin, he became friends with Blaise, Theo, Daphne, Draco, Neville and lately Tracey and Millicent. He learned early about Voldemort possessing Quirrell, and Dumbledore laying a trap with the Philosophers Stone. Before the Easter Holidays, he stole the stone and let Atana, his familiar, bite Quirrell, to prevent him from discovering the theft and finding another way for Voldemort to be resurrected.  
> We left off at the end of his first year, when Atana decided it's time to be revealed to the school.

(Look how pretty it is!! <3)

 

**Chapter 26**

 

A crash coming from downstairs makes Hadrian jump so violently that he throws his book on wards to the floor and pushes over his half-empty mug of coffee. He curses, but before he can wonder what the hell is going on, Kreacher pops into the library, talking at rapid speed.

“Young Master, Young Master, an invasion into the House of Black! But Kreacher detained the intruder he did! Kreacher and Master Regulus’ smart wards, yes! But young-“

“Kreacher, stop!” he interrupts, trying to make out the relevant parts. He already grabbed his wand at ‘invasion,’ but he’d prefer to have a bit more information on what’s going on because right now, it doesn’t make much sense.

Nobody should be able to pass the wards on Grimmauld Place at all and seeing that Regulus is currently at work and he’s alone in the house, he doesn’t want to storm downstairs and find out for himself.

Kreacher is looking at him with wide eyes and nearly trembling on his feet, hands pulling his ears. “Alright, tell me from the beginning?” he gestures and Kreacher nods frantically.

“Another elf is been trying to come into the house, but Master Regulus be putting up wards against other elves so Kreacher was being alerted and has caught the aggressor he did!”

He furrows his brows, twirling his wand between his fingers. It’s a relief that it’s not some wayward Death Eater, but why in Merlin’s name would a house-elf try to sneak in? He knew about the ward they have, a consequence from Regulus’ experience with the underestimation of house-elf magic, he just never thought it would be necessary.

“Alright, did he say what he wants? Maybe somebody just sent him with a message?” he asks, but Kreacher quickly shakes his head.

“Elves with orders are to contact Kreacher and then they be allowed in, no sneaky business! Kreacher muted the intruder immediately!” Kreacher crosses his arms over his chest and he has to fight a smile at the obvious indignation. Not that he’s not grateful.

“Thanks, Kreacher.” He smiles, and the elf straightens up even more. “Can you show me to the elf? I think we should find out what he wants. You can help me if he should try any sneaky business, and I’ll get Atana first.”

Kreacher nods again, his ears flopping around his head, and after he collected a disgruntled Atana from his room, he follows the still agitated elf into the kitchen. There, an elf dressed in dirty rags hangs suspended in the air, a bubble surrounding him that obviously prevents any movement.

Before he can ask, Kreacher snaps his fingers and the bubble disappears, making the elf drop unceremoniously to the floor. He instantly starts crying and wringing his hands, and Hadrian doesn’t understand a word of what he’s saying.

“Stop!” he orders, feeling pity for the little creature but being aware that it needs a commanding tone to get him to listen.

It works as expected and he crouches down with some distance between them, his wand in his hand.

“What’s your name?” he asks which instantly causes another crying fit and he sighs.

“Ha-Harry Potter is too- too ni-nice!” the pitiful little thing hiccups and while he cringes at the name, he lets it go for now.

“Me is Dobby, Ha-Harry Potter! Dobby is not coming here to do any harm, Dobby swears!”

He frowns and twirls his wand between his fingers, while Kreacher is glaring daggers but staying quiet.

“What are you doing here, then? I suppose you know that it’s considered inappropriate to enter another home?”

“Dobby is a bad elf, Dobby knows!” he sobs and runs to the closest cabinet, hitting his head against it.

Hadrian jumps up and grabs Dobby by his arms, turning him around. “No harming yourself here, understood?” he says sternly, wondering which family Dobby comes from to be this prone to punishing himself.

He knows that it took Regulus a long time to break Kreacher out of the same habit and he hates the thought of any other elf being subjected to that kind of treatment. Some old families still do this even if it’s prohibited by law and considered improper and unethical amongst most families. House-elves depend on their bonded family for their magic, but it’s historically a mutually beneficial relationship. To abuse it is, in his opinion, as bad as abusing your child, seeing that both don’t have a chance to escape from you.

Dobby nods frantically, but big tears are rolling down his face and he stutters: “Har-Harry Po-Potter is too kind! Dobby is coming here to warn him, he is!!”

He raises an intrigued brow, wondering what this is about. “So, you don’t have any orders to break in?”

“No, Dobby is be getting into trouble if his Masters’ find out, Dobby is a bad elf!” he wails again and Hadrian cringes at the volume. Ever since the ritual, he can hardly stand excessive noise.

“What do you need to warn me about, Dobby?” he asks with as much patience as he can muster and lets go of the elf, hoping that he won’t be hitting himself again. He can see that Kreacher is still keeping a close eye on Dobby, for entirely different reasons. He doesn’t think that he poses any danger though. Even if he belongs to another family, house-elves aren’t known for attacking wizards if they don’t mean harm to their masters or have specific orders.

“Mister Harry Potter, Sir mustn’t go back to Hogwarts!” Dobby says, his big eyes pleading but only confusing him more.

“Why?”

Dobby wrings his hands again and eyes the cupboard but obviously restrains himself. “Horrible things are going to happen! Things that could harm the great Harry Potter, Sir!”

“What kind of things. Dobby?” he asks, tilting his head. “And how do you know about it?” He doubts that it’s actually serious, considering Death didn’t say anything yet.

“Dobby can’t… Dobby hears things, Mister Harry Potter, Sir!”

“Okay but you can’t tell me what is going to happen?” he clarifies, suspecting that it would go against direct orders.

“No Dobby is sorry, Dobby can’t!” he wails again, and Hadrian quickly reassures him that it’s not his fault.

“So Mister Harry Potter Sir is promising to not be going back?” Dobby looks at him hopefully, his hands trembling.

“I can’t do that Dobby, there are rules for me to go to school. But I promise I’ll be careful, okay?”

Dobby looks conflicted and like he’s planning something, so he continues: “I really can’t, but I promise I’ll talk to some adults about it so they can keep an eye out and take care of any danger, alright? Thank you for telling me.”

Dobby nods hesitantly, “Alright, but Harry Potter must promise to be careful! Terrible things… terrible things.”

He nods again, then looks over at Kreacher. “I think you can let him go; I’m sure Dobby has to get back now.”

Kreacher doesn’t look pleased but snaps his fingers again, and after another two minutes of tears and gratitude, Dobby pops away.

He gets up and sits down at the table, absently taking the cup of coffee Kreacher hands him. “Do you know whose elf that was, Kreacher?” he eventually asks, hoping that it might give him a clue. He could ask Death of course, but he enjoys trying to figure it out on his own.

While the warning sounded quite severe, he doesn’t take it too seriously. His first year at Hogwarts, Voldemort was there, he stole the Philosopher’s Stone and killed Quirrell, so he doubts that it’s going to be much worse. Still, he’s curious.

“Kreacher doesn’t know the traitorous elf, Kreacher is sorry,” he sneers, disgust written all over his wrinkled face.

He raises an amused brow, “Well, but he did warn me because he was worried. He may not be loyal to his family, but he looked like he’s not treated well so it’s not that much of a surprise.”

“An elf should be loyal. It is being a disgrace!” Kreacher grumbles and he only smiles, letting it rest.

While he gets the theoretical side of the whole house-elf topic, he never really understood their reasoning behind it and wonders if bonding to wizards really is the only way for them to sustain their magic. His experiences with the Dursleys make him more than opposed to the idea of serving anyone, much less being treated the way some elves are, and he can’t imagine that they really have no chance but to accept their fate.

He ponders what Dobby told him the whole afternoon, but while it’s definitely intriguing, he doesn’t worry all that much about it.

When he tells Regulus what happened during dinner, he has a decidedly different opinion.

“I think if an elf goes so far to disregard their orders, it has to be rather serious and while I’m sure that you can handle yourself, you shouldn’t take it so lightly,” he says with a tight expression.

Hadrian winces a little because Regulus does have a point and if it was the other way around, he’d probably worry more as well. Besides, he shouldn’t get too comfortable.

“What did you say was his name?” Regulus asks, picking at his food.

“Dobby. Why, do you know who he belongs to?”

Regulus' head snaps up, “If I’m not mistaken it’s a Malfoy elf. Lucius’ personal one, I think!”

That certainly gets his attention. What in Merlin’s name could Lucius Malfoy be planning that might put Hogwarts into danger?

“But his own heir is attending school, that sounds terribly stupid. Are you sure it’s his elf?”

Regulus tilts his head in thought and finally sighs. “I think so, yes. Listen, I get that you want to figure this out by yourself but let’s ask Death about it, please?”

“Yes, sure. It actually does sound more serious than I first thought and you’re right, I should be more careful,” he allows and Regulus smiles.

“You’re a teenager, however much you don’t act like one. Come on, let’s go to the library.”

He grimaces at the thought but follows him and as soon as they sit down on their sofa, Death appears on his own.

“You know, I would have told you within a week anyway because this is actually important, if in a different way than you might expect,” Death says, amusement clear in his voice.

He furrows his brows, trying to come up with an idea that would warrant this statement but coming up blank.

“You remember that Lucius Malfoy has the last Horcrux of Voldemort, don’t you?” Death asks and both he and Regulus tense instantly. Neither of them has thought of that in a while and he barely suppresses a wince at his own ignorance and disregard of the matter.

“He’s getting cold feet, seeing that your Ministry is recently doing a lot of raids. The reason for that is a new Muggle Protection Bill or something, and he plans on getting rid of the diary. It was given to his father, many years ago, and Lucius is not aware what exactly it is, just that it can serve as a tool to finish the work of Salazar Slytherin – or rather, what people today think was Salazar Slytherin’s life goal,” Death explains and he feels his curiosity increase.

“Please don’t tell me that he wants to give a Horcrux to a Hogwarts student,” Regulus says flatly before he has a chance to voice his own suspicion.

Death inclines his head with a long-suffering sigh. “That’s exactly what he plans to do. He’s convinced that it won’t put his son into danger and mainly wants to discredit a light family when their child is found with a dark artefact in their possession.”

They both groan simultaneously, but then Hadrian perks up. “But you’ll be able to tell us when he plans to do that and it might give us a chance to intercept it, right? Then we’d finally have all the Horcruxes!”

“Smart boy,” Death murmurs in approval. “He’s planning to do so when they go to Diagon Alley to get Draco’s school things. He’ll be selling some other artefacts in Knockturn Alley and then plans to slip it to some unsuspecting, young student. It would be disastrous because contrary to the other Horcruxes, this one is actually able to interact.”

“What?!” Regulus exclaims, horror written all over his face.

“As I said, it’s a diary but it’s a bit special. Not only is it protected differently, but it serves a purpose and contains the largest piece of his soul. It was the first Horcrux he created, after all.”

“Explain, please? What kind of purpose can it serve, besides the obvious?” Hadrian asks, trying to think of a way but having absolutely no idea. That happens far too often today for his liking.

“There are compulsions on it, motivating the owner to write into it. It’s blank, you see, and it writes back.”

“Oh Salazar,” Regulus mutters but Death ignores him.

“That way, the soul piece can actually absorb energy and magic from the writer. Lifeforce, if you will. When it gathers enough, it can possess the writer without them noticing – they’ll forget, as soon as he returns to the diary. It slowly drains them until eventually, Tom Riddle regains his body and the owner dies.”

He swallows, remembering how lightly he took the whole matter only hours ago. He really shouldn’t consider himself so above things. Even if Death would have told him eventually, it was stupid and reckless, and he really should know better.

“And what’s the purpose? I mean sure, it sounds useful at Voldemort’s current state, but the soul-piece can’t know that, right? What about the whole Slytherin thing?” he asks, feeling more and more confused the longer he thinks about it.

“One thing after the other,” Death admonishes but Hadrian swears there’s a smirk in the voice. “Did you ever hear about the Chamber of Secrets?”

Regulus makes a surprised noise, but Hadrian shakes his head. “The what?”

“By now, it’s merely a legend but it is actually true,”

“ – How many more legends am I going to find out are true? First the Hallows, now this,” Regulus grumbles and Death clears his throat. Regulus only grins apologetically.

“Most legends have at least a grain of truth in them, you’ll find. The one of ‘The Warlocks Hairy Heart’ who put his heart into a crystal cage? It’s an analogy about Horcruxes,” Death says, and Regulus just slumps against the backrest, shaking his head in obvious defeat.

“And we read that to our children as bed-time stories. Alright, sorry, I stop,” he says quickly.

It’s funny, even without ever seeing Death’s face, after a while, you just get the impression that you know his expression _somehow_.

“Good. So, as I said, the Chamber of Secret isn’t a mere legend, even if much of the story is very thwarted by now. Salazar Slytherin did build a chamber into Hogwarts, just like every other Founder had their own places within the castle. Slytherin though was convinced that the Muggles pose a threat to wizards. It was long before the Statute of Secrecy and shortly before the witch hunts began, so he wasn’t wrong. Today it is believed that he simply had a problem with Muggleborn, a misconception both blood-supremacists and their opponents like to use to their advantage. He was more concerned about their families and before he left Hogwarts, he left behind what is known as Slytherin’s monster. That is actually quite fitting, seeing that it is a Basilisk-“

“A _Basilisk_. In _Hogwarts_ ,” Hadrian interrupts this time, sitting up straight.

“Yes. Today it is believed that he left it to purge the school of ‘unworthy students’, but that is not true. He left it as a last defence for the school, he was afraid that the Muggles might find, and attack Hogwarts and its original task was to protect the castle. He didn’t think it through, obviously, because it needs a Parselmouth to control it and it hibernates most of the time, but well.”

Regulus exhales in a rush, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, so it’s not actually active. But, to come back to our starting point, what does this have to do with the Horcrux?” He then blanches instantly, “No…”

Hadrian furrows his brow and looks at Death, who sighs deeply. “Yes. Tom Riddle, after discovering that he’s descendant from Slytherin, researched everything he could get his hands on and eventually stumbled over the tale of the Chamber. In his 5th year, he found it and spent a year letting it roam the school, petrifying students. At the end of the year, a student died, and he only then realised that the school might get closed. Idiot,” Death grumbles, more to himself and Hadrian is inclined to agree.

“Anyway. He set up Rubeus Hagrid as the culprit who, at that time, kept an Acromantula in school and was found responsible but saved from Azkaban by Dumbledore. He was expelled and apprenticed as the groundskeeper he is today.”

“That’s why he’s so loyal to Dumbledore?” Hadrian asks, another few pieces falling into place.

“Indeed. Dumbledore was the only one who didn’t believe Hagrid to be guilty and found Tom Riddle’s sudden discovery suspicious, keeping a close eye on him afterwards. Because of this, he didn’t try to open the Chamber again during his own time at Hogwarts. But he used Myrtle Warren’s death for his first Horcrux, the diary, and eventually made it into a tool to reopen the chamber.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Regulus says when it becomes clear that Death is finished, “Tom Riddle opened the, actually existing, Chamber of Secrets during his time at school and killed a student in his 5th year, but managed to blame someone else with a, admittedly very questionable pet, that still doesn’t have the means to petrify anybody. He also used that death to make his first Horcrux, at bloody 16, and then went on and made that Horcrux into a device that can possess people, suck out their life-force, and make them open the Chamber again to let loose a Basilisk into Hogwarts. And he then gave that diary to one of his followers, who gave it to his son, who now wants to give it a bloody Hogwarts student.”

“That’s about it, yes.” Death says, sounding way too unconcerned for the actual situation. Not that it’s anything new.

“Alright, but we can actually find out when Malfoy plans to do that and intercept the diary so that there won’t be a damn Basilisk killing students, right?” Hadrian asks, trying to focus on the positive point here.

“Yes, exactly. Though I would advise you that Hadrian will keep it because it might actually influence Regulus, contrary to the other Horcruxes.”

“Ugh, fantastic. Why doesn’t it influence the Malfoys?” Regulus asks, looking anything but pleased by the news.

“When Voldemort gave it to Abraxas Malfoy, he spelled it to not affect anyone of the Malfoy line. He actually expected him to keep it safe and only told him it’ll be useful to finish Slytherins supposed ‘noble work’. Abraxas Malfoy knew about the opening of the Chamber of course and has probably told Lucius about it, which brings us here today.”

“Lucius never was the brightest wand in the shop,” Regulus sneers and Hadrian has to suppress a smile. It’s nothing new that Regulus doesn’t like Draco’s father, but he’s so used to only being around Regulus at home that it’s a bit foreign to him to see him so contemptuous. “Well, at least we’ll be able to intercept it. Imagine if he would succeed and the Chamber is opened, 3 months after you let the whole school know that you’re a Parselmouth.”

He can feel himself pale once more, he didn’t even consider that. “Merlin you’re right, that would’ve been a disaster. Not to mention, having a teenage Tom Riddle possess a first-year and, worst-case scenario, regain his body.”

He rubs a hand over his face and they’re all silent for a few minutes, only the fire crackling in the background.

“Do you know when they’re planning to go to Diagon Alley?” Regulus finally asks and Death inclines his head.

“Yes, I think they will go next week, Lucius wants to get rid of any dark evidence before the Ministry raids their Manor. And with that, I’ll leave you to it. You should ask Draco to meet with you, it will make it easier,” he adds, and then he disappears.

Regulus puts an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close and he goes willingly.

“What’s this about the raids, anyway? Do you think they’ll search here or Black Manor, too?” he asks, not moving his head from its position on Regulus' shoulder.

“Arthur Weasley and his department for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts passed a new bill in the Wizengamot because they encounter an increased number of cursed artefacts that cause trouble among Muggles, so they’re doing raids now to find out where they’re coming from. I doubt they’ll pay us a visit though, the Ministry is still walking on eggshells around us because of the whole disaster with Sirius.”

He relaxes a bit, relieved that there won’t be any strangers taking their home apart.

“And what if they do? I mean, we do have a few Horcruxes, the stolen Philosopher’s Stone and some very questionable artefacts here,” he asks a while later, still not completely rid of the worry.

“Yeah, but do you honestly believe that the Aurors would find a secret room that was installed exactly for these kinds of events, and the protections only strengthened over centuries?”

He can hear the amusement in Regulus' voice and smiles.

* * *

_Dear Hadrian,_

_How are your holidays going? Here it’s all rather tense. After they passed that bill in the Ministry, father is pretty annoyed and fears that the Manor will be raided. The audacity, simply strolling into our Manors, as if we’re some peasant criminals! All because of some Muggles, honestly._

_Anyway. I’m doing a lot of Quidditch practise, and Theo and Daphne visit often. Unfortunately, I didn’t convince them yet to join me. Have you started on your homework yet? I bet you have it finished already, you swot. (I’m joking, just so you know.)_

_Mother said that you and Regulus should come and visit sometime, maybe even bring your godfather. I’m all for that, you want to try out for Quidditch next year too, right? Which position are you aiming for? Also, we’re going to Diagon Alley next Sunday, we could meet up there?_

_Best regards,_

_Draco Malfoy,_

_Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy  
_

* * *

_Dear Har,_

_My holidays in Italy are going fine, though mother is absent most of the time. I suppose she has a new man, it always happens. It makes it rather boring, to be honest, though I have the beach right in front of the Villa._

_How is it going for you? I heard there are a lot of raids this summer, Draco is complaining endlessly. I also heard from Theo once, he seems to be doing okay._

_When mother was home last week, Cassiopeia Black visited. I heard they’ll be moving back soon. She invited me to visit, but I wanted to check if that would be alright with you? I’d love to have some company, to be honest, and I always wanted to see the ancestral Black home. Besides, I’m sure there are some new headlines I might be able to tease you with, and somebody needs to pull you away from all those books from time to time. I bet you’re doing barely anything else._

_Write me!_

_Best regards,_

_Blaise  
_

* * *

Hadrian grins, especially at Blaise’s letter. Though he does wonder about the slight bitterness when he was writing about his mother being absent, it has to be rather boring and kind of hurtful, after being away most of the year.

“Hey Reg, would you mind if Blaise visits us for a week or two?” he asks, looking over to where he’s sitting on one of the desks, bend over his books.

Regulus smiles and shakes his head. “No, not at all. Though we could also ask him to come with us to Germany at the beginning of August. And we’ll have to be careful to not let him hear anything about Lucius and the diary.”

He nods, then remembers Draco’s question. “Draco wrote as well, saying Narcissa invited us and Sirius. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

He can’t really picture his godfather in Malfoy Manor, however far he has come within the last 9 months. Regulus’ grimace makes him suspect that he sees that similarly.

“Oh, and Blaise wrote that he saw Cassiopeia last week. Do they have a date when they’ll move here?”

Regulus grins at all his questions and he throws a crumpled parchment at him.

“We can visit Draco and Narcissa, yes. No, I don’t think we should take Sirius with us and Narcissa should be aware of that. And yes, I think I got a letter from Arcturus yesterday, they’ll arrive a week before your birthday,” he answers, still smiling and spelling the parchment to hit Hadrian on the head until he flicks it into the fire.

“Wow, that’s soon!” he exclaims excitedly, but then frowns. “Pity that we already leave for Germany a few days after though. I mean I look forward to it, but… “

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean,” Regulus smiles softly. “But they’ll need some time to settle in, and we’re only gone for a week. And I bet half my vault that the Duelling Competition will keep you occupied.”

His excitement instantly returns at that, because it’s true. It’ll be the European Championship of Duelling and he’s more than enthusiastic for the whole thing.

“You should write Blaise. If he wants to come, I need to arrange for a third ticket,” Regulus reminds him.

He hums in acknowledgement but then looks at Regulus sharply. Travelling has always been _their_ thing and while he likes the idea of Blaise coming with them, it’s a change to their habits. “You really don’t mind him coming with us? I’m sure he can visit afterwards, too.”

Regulus looks surprised and shakes his head. “Not at all. I’d struggle with Draco because he can be bloody annoying, but as long as what you told me about Blaise is true, I don’t mind.”

He grins and jumps up, pulling him into a hug. “I wouldn’t want to take any of the others, either,” he smirks after sitting back down, summoning parchment and a quill to him.

“Oh, Draco wrote to me that they’ll be going to Diagon Alley on Sunday, I can’t believe I nearly forgot to tell you. What is it with my carelessness recently?” he says when he finished the letter for Blaise, gave it to Thanatos and read Draco’s letter once more to answer.

Regulus sighs softly, “Har, you’re only 12, you’re allowed to not worry constantly. We go to Diagon Alley on Sunday, it’ll be fine. Just write to him that we’ll meet them there.”

While he appreciates the reassurance, he’s still annoyed with himself. This is important and should have been the first thing he told Regulus.

* * *

Sunday is there soon, and after breakfast, they get ready for Regulus to apparate them. They’re going to meet the Malfoys at the Leaky Cauldron, and he’s kind of glad that it’ll be only them. He does miss Daphne, but she’s in Greece with her family, and Neville’s grandmother wouldn’t be impressed with meeting with the Malfoys. Theo still has to be careful because of his father, and Blaise will only arrive together with Cassiopeia next week.

Besides, it’ll hopefully be easier to secure the diary with fewer people paying attention to him. He and Regulus agreed to wait and see, keeping a close eye on Lucius and intervening when necessary, with the help of Death issuing a warning should they miss it.

After greeting the Malfoys, they make their way into the alley: Draco is already talking a mile a minute about his holidays, but Hadrian is only half listening. Lucius just said something about ‘running errands’ when Draco elbows him sharply into the side.

He has to bite his tongue to not snap at him – it’s not Draco’s fault he’s on edge. “I’m sorry I was lost in thought. What did you say?”

Draco sniffs haughtily and he has to hold back a smile at the familiar gesture. “I said that you didn’t tell me for which position you’ll try out.”

Ah yes, the whole Quidditch issue. He pondered for a while if he should even try out at all – he loves flying and Seeker games with Regulus, but he’s not as fanatic about the sport like many others, and the training will cost him a lot of his time. Then again, he was bored the better half of last year and this year, there hopefully won’t be Voldemort and the Philosopher’s Stone. Besides, it would further improve his standing with the Slytherins and especially the higher years.

“Seeker. I only ever played that position and I’m not all that keen on ruffling with the Chasers. Not to mention that Higgs is terrible at the job,” he smirks, remembering the pitiful display the last year. “What about you?”

Draco’s expression is pinched and slightly resigned. “I also wanted to try out as seeker. Milli and Blaise will both try out for the two Chaser positions and the others are taken.”

Oh yeah, that would warrant the annoyed look. He ignores it though. He knows that if he makes the team, Draco will sulk for a few days but get over it sooner or later. “Well, then we’ll just have to see who wins, won’t we? It’s only Quidditch,” he shrugs, hoping to dissolve the sudden tension.

Draco shakes his head. “Only Quidditch he says,” but his lips are twitching in amusement.

“Hey Har, I’ll accompany Lucius to run some errands, we’re looking for the same things. You go with Draco and Narcissa and start gathering your school supplies, alright? We’ll meet in an hour at Flourish&Blotts.”

He nods in agreement and hides his smirk at Lucius’ displeased expression.

They first go to Madame Malkin’s, both he and Draco grew out their school robes and they’re only sold there. They venture on to Twilfitt and Tatting’s to get new everyday robes. Hadrian honestly would have gotten them at Madame Malkin’s as well, but Draco insisted that the quality is better there and Narcissa obviously agreed.

When they’re finally finished the hour is nearly up, and they make their way up the alley towards the bookstore.

“Did you see that we’ll need all the books from Gilderoy Lockhart?” Draco sneers the name and he raises an amused eyebrow at him.

“Never heard of him and that’s saying something,” he remarks, stepping out of the way of a family with three very small children, one of them on a toy broom.

“He’s famous, especially among witches in their 40’s,” Narcissa says dryly, and Hadrian looks up at the scorn in her voice.

“For what?”

“He writes books about things he claims to have done, and he has a pretty smile, or so I am told,” she says, and he assumes that only propriety is keeping her from rolling her eyes. Walburga scolded him for that habit often enough, but he doesn’t see how it matters so much – if he’s annoyed, people can know that as far as he’s concerned and it’s not like Regulus doesn’t do it himself.

When they get closer to the bookshop, he wonders about the long queue in front of it but it doesn’t take him long to spot the posters announcing the signing of books by the same wizard they just talked about.

Before he can say anything though, they’re joined by Regulus and Lucius, the former shaking his head slightly at his questioning look. He sighs inaudibly – he would have preferred to avoid the crowded shop and order his books with Thanatos or come back another day, but Lucius looks resolved and it’s probably the perfect setting to slip someone a diary. Well then.

Between the three imposing adults, it doesn’t take long to get inside, but it’s only worse there. Narcissa’s statement proves to be true, there are mostly witches in their 40’s and older and posters with who has to be Gilderoy Lockhart are plastered along the walls, portraying a garish man with a creepily bright smile.

“Maybe we should split up,” Lucius proposes, and he has to grit his teeth to not make a scathing remark. Exchanging a glance with Regulus, he nods and follows Draco up the stairs, pulling out his book list.

“We could have ordered this,” he mumbles, but cheers from downstairs swallow his voice. They have only found their books for Transfiguration when Draco pulls at his sleeve.

“Look, there are the Weasley’s,” he says with badly concealed distaste, but pulls him back downstairs and into their direction anyway.

Hadrian groans, he’d rather avoid a confrontation with Ron Weasley of all people on top of everything. He pulls his arm out of Draco’s grip and takes a few steps to the side, eyes scanning the room for Lucius’ head but only seeing Lockhart entering the stage and swooning witches. He gets shoved by someone with a big camera and grimaces again. Merlin but he hates big groups of people, not to mention that the noise is starting to give him a headache.

It’s then that Lockhart calls out his name and his annoyance reaches its peak when someone tries to pull him forward. He pulls his arm out of the strong grip effortlessly, raises a brow and sneers in the most condescending manner he can muster. The room falls silent when they realise that he’s not moving along, and he squares his shoulders under the stares.

“Come on my boy, together we’ll make the front page!” Lockhart grins, suddenly standing next to him and making a grip for his shoulder he swiftly side-steps.

“Excuse me, I haven’t heard your name before today and I absolutely do not care about the frontpage, less about making it with you. So, if you would cease trying to pull me into your little PR-Stunt, it would be greatly appreciated,” he says, taking another step back.

Lockhart looks dumbfounded for a moment and then laughs as if he just told a joke. “That’s a good one, hasn’t heard of me before today, now come on-“

He feels a hand on his shoulder and realises in relief that it’s Regulus. “I beg your pardon, he just said no,” Regulus says, and his voice is so cold and haughty that he’s just glad it has never been directed at him.

Lockhart visibly falters and hesitates another few seconds, until Regulus raises a brow and sneers.

“Well then, not everybody is for publicity, but nonetheless I’m happy to announce that, when Harry Potter entered this shop today, he had no idea that he would, for one, receive all my books signed and free of charge,” he winks at him and Hadrian doesn’t even try to hide his scowl. “But that he’ll also meet his new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor!”

No. No way, Dumbledore can’t have hired this idiot –

“That’s right, Ladies and Gentlemen, next term I’ll be sharing my valuable knowledge and experience with Harry Potter and his fellow students!”

While the room breaks into applause, he turns horrified eyes towards Draco – who doesn’t notice, because he’s in a heated debate with Ron Weasley.

He groans, again, but tenses when he sees Lucius approach the group and grab a book out of the cauldron of a small, red-haired girl who, to her credit, looks more indignant than intimidated.

They’re not standing far away but it’s impossible to hear what’s being said above all the noise. The sneer on Lucius' face and the anger on those of the Weasleys say it all though and he wonders how a grown man like the Malfoy Lord can be so pathetic to bother _children_ , for Merlin’s sake.

It still shocks him when, who has to be their father, throws an actual punch at Lucius and they begin to fight, and he can hear Regulus curse under his breath before he lifts his wand and separates them with a shield.

Regulus walks over and he follows, a few steps behind and keeping his eyes fixed on Lucius, who’s now brushing off his robes and picking up the book he took. It’s barely noticeable but Hadrian catches the swift move with which he slips another thin book under it, before dropping it back into the cauldron. He doubts even Regulus saw it, busy with calming everyone down.

He pretends to stumble when he’s close to the group, knocking into the small girl who drops her cauldron while he catches her by the arm to prevent her from falling.

“Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry!” he apologises, looking at her worriedly. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, someone must have pushed me. Here, let me-“

He crouches down and gathers the scattered books, his eyes scanning them frantically. He finally notices an unremarkable, thin, black book with no inscription and, seeing that all the others are obviously schoolbooks, concludes that this has to be what he’s looking for.

He sighs, resigning himself to making an even bigger fool of himself and lets his own books drop from under his arm.

“Wow, this is not my day,” he mutters with an apologetic look towards the girl who watches him with wide eyes, saying nothing. He quickly finishes putting her books back while slipping the diary between his.

“There you are,” he smiles and hands her the cauldron, ignoring Ron’s scowl.

“Come on, Har, let’s go home. We’ll get your remaining stuff another day,” Regulus saves him from the awkward situation, and he follows him after a quick nod to the group.

The Malfoys are nowhere in sight when they get out of the store. “Narcissa was furious, they went home already,” Regulus answers his unasked question and he smirks faintly. Serves them right after that spectacle.

They’re silent until Regulus has apparated them back home and they’re sitting in the library.

“Did you get it?” Regulus asks once Kreacher brought them coffee. He nods, pulling it out from between the books Lockhart gave him and handing it over. Death’s warning is still fresh on his mind, but he supposes it’ll be fine as long as it’s only for a moment.  

Regulus inspects it for a few minutes. Every single page is blank, and the basic Revealing Spells don’t produce any results, but he soon shudders and gives it back. “You don’t feel anything from it?”

He shakes his head, curiously running his fingers over the name imprinted into the leather. “No, nothing. I mean I can sense that it’s magical, dark even, but I don’t feel the urge to write in it. Do you?”

“Well, it’s not like a burning need, more like… the idea that a diary would be a really good idea and it would be particularly nice to write in this one.” His lips curl in distaste and Hadrian completely understands the sentiment. Mind magic, in general, is rather scary to him, the idea that someone could manipulate his thoughts and actions.

“I wonder though…” he murmurs, an idea springing up in his mind. “Death?”

The entity appears in the room, nodding at both of them. “Well done, little one.”

“It was rather embarrassing, but well. I’d like to know though, if the compulsions don’t tempt me, would the possession still work if I were to write in it? You said the soul-piece writes back, right?”

He can feel Regulus tense beside him and grimaces slightly. He doesn’t even know what he wants to hear – on the one hand, he feels repulsed by the mere idea of communicating with the Horcrux; on the other hand, he always had a slight fascination with Voldemort and his past as Tom Riddle, and this would allow him to get some answers – or at least an impression.

“It wouldn’t have any effect on you, you don’t think I would let anyone enter, not to mention influence your mind?” Death sounds nearly insulted by the idea and he smiles at his companion.

“Of course not, but if I should ever decide to write in it, I’d want to be completely sure.”

“Fair enough, though I have no idea why you would want to do that. Just make sure to keep it safe, I’d suggest putting it into the book I gave you. It won’t like it, but first of all, I really don’t care, and then only you have access to it.”

He nods, and they let the topic drop. Regulus looks conflicted, clearly not liking the idea but trusting Death and at least somewhat understanding the curiosity about a teenage Voldemort.

* * *

Over the next week, Hadrian takes the book out of its hiding place a few times. He’s a bit annoyed with himself that he’s so invested, that his thoughts keep straying back to it and all the questions his mind comes up with. Why in Merlin’s name does Tom Riddle have to be such a mystery, why does he consider talking to him at all?

Then again, it’s maybe the safest chance he’ll ever get to ask some questions, to maybe even receive some answers to them and he has always valued knowledge a lot. Besides, now that the primary threat is out of the way, he’s rather curious about the Chamber of Secrets if he’s honest.

The night before his birthday he sits once again at the desk in his room, staring at the unassuming cover and toying with a quill between his fingers. Finally, his patience with himself runs out – he knows it poses no danger to him, and he’s being ridiculous, worrying himself over why he wants to know more about Tom Riddle. He obviously wants to know, he obviously has a chance to find out, and if it doesn’t work, he can still lock the bloody thing away.

Decision made, he takes a breath and dips his quill into his inkpot, opening the book to the first page.

 

**Hello, Tom Riddle. What a pleasure to finally meet you.**

Nobody said he couldn’t have some fun in the process, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, let me know! :)  
> Updates will be once a week, most likely during weekends. 
> 
> If you want to see more stunning art from the WIP Big Bang and discover some brilliant fics, you can check [this tumblr](https://hplvwipbigbang.tumblr.com/)


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely feedback!! <3
> 
> _$This is Parseltongue$_  
> 
> **This is Hadrian writing**  
>   
>  _This is Tom writing_  
> 

**Hello, Tom Riddle. What a pleasure to finally meet you.**

He watches curiously as the ink disappears after a few seconds, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. For a while, nothing happens. He already considers closing the book, denying his disappointment even to himself, when swift, tidy letters appear on the page.

_ Hello, you seem to have me at a disadvantage here. What’s your name? And how do you know mine? _

He grins, tapping his fingers against his desk and pondering what to write.

**You may call me Hadrian. Well, your name is imprinted on the diary, not that hard to find out.**

_ Don’t you have a surname? That might be true, but your introduction leads me to believe that you know more about me. Not to mention that you obviously expected me to write back, which is rather unlikely for a common diary, or at least it was in my time. So, you must have more knowledge than the name printed on the book. _

He snorts and shakes his head, quickly dipping his quill into the ink bottle again.

**I do have a surname, but you don’t need to know that yet. And if you want to find out just how much I actually know about what you are, or what the diary is, you could have asked directly or tried for more subtlety. Really, I’m a bit disappointed.**

Maybe he shouldn’t tease so much if he ever wants to get some answers of his own, but he somehow just can’t help himself. This time, the answer comes quickly.

_ I apologise, I didn’t mean to manipulate you. You have to understand that I’m curious though, not many expect me to communicate. _

He laughs loudly at that answer, but at the same time has to admit that it would most likely work if someone didn’t know exactly with whom they’re dealing here.

**You know, that apology would mean more if it wasn’t a blatant attempt at manipulation itself, Tom. Let’s make a deal, shall we? An answer for an answer, with the possibility to demand a different question.**

He’s acutely aware that it’s a risk, but he has the upper hand right now and he doubts that the teenage Dark Lord will simply offer him information in return for nothing. There’s a long pause before the neat handwriting appears again.

_ How do I know that you speak the truth? _

That’s admittedly a good question because he’d prefer to be sure that Tom’s honest with him as well. He furrows his brows, eyes resting on Atana. _$Hey Atana, do you know if written vows work as well?$_

She raises her head from his pillow and stares at him for a few moments. _$Only in Parseltongue because it’s magical in itself,$_ she answers eventually, and he swears she eyes the book with mistrust. Not that she’s wrong, but he counts on being able to refuse to answer. He’d have to reveal that he’s a Parselmouth but seeing that he wants to ask questions about the Chamber, it’s probably unavoidable either way.

**We can both write a vow; it has to be in Parseltongue though.**

_ You’re a Parselmouth? _

He smirks at the speed with which Tom answered, the smug feeling overriding the vague sense of worry about disclosing that little fact. It’s not like half of wizarding England isn’t already aware of it.

**Obviously. I go first on two conditions: the fact that I have to disclose my surname for the vow counts as an answer, and if you try to trick me, I’ll lock the diary away until the end of days.**

_So mistrustful. But alright, I agree to your conditions_.

He wonders if Tom is this cooperative because he hopes to possess him eventually or if he’s also curious by now. He sighs and thinks a moment about the wording of the vow, then concentrates on actually writing in Parselscript.

**I, Hadrian James Potter-Black, swear upon my magic that I’ll answer Tom Marvolo Riddle’s questions truthfully, or if I find myself unwilling to do so, demand a different question in its stead, as an exchange for answers to my own questions. So I say it, so mote it be.**

Golden light encircles his wrists and he can feel the magic settle in. When he looks back at the diary, there are already letters appearing.

_ I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear upon my magic that I’ll answer Hadrian James Potter-Black’s questions truthfully, or if I find myself unwilling to do so, demand a different question in its stead, as an exchange for answers to my own questions. So I say it, so mote it be. _

The diary glows with the vow and his brows rise in surprise, not for the first time does he wonder how exactly the magic of it works. Twirling his quill between his fingers, he tries to decide what to ask first. He settles on something easier for the start, seeing that admitting his surname wasn’t much of a concession.

**Alright, how old were you when you made the diary into what it is now?**

It’s a harmless question at first sight, but he still can’t really believe that Tom made his first Horcrux at bloody 15 or 16, no matter how much he knows that Death would never lie to him.

_ I was 16. _

_ Potter-Black, interesting, but not what I want to explore further for now. What do you think this diary _ _i_ _s?_

He grins. Figures that it would be the first question.

**It’s your Horcrux, embedded with spells to make people want to write in it and modified in a way that you can interact.**

**I don’t think that, I actually know it.**

He holds himself back from teasing Tom with his knowledge about his other Horcruxes or the actual purpose of the diary – information just became a valuable asset between them and he’s not going to give anything up voluntarily.

There’s another long pause before Tom answers:

_ Surprisingly enough, that is true. Your next question? _

**Why did you make a Horcrux?**

He pulls one leg up to his chest and watches the diary in anticipation; it’s a question he has ever since he learned about them.

_ Because I don’t want to die. _

He cringes and could’ve hit himself for not formulating it more clearly.

_ How old are you? _

Huh, he didn’t expect that one.

**Seeing that my birthday is in a few hours, let’s say 12.**

_ How in Salazar’s name do you know what a Horcrux is at that age? _

Tom’s answer came quickly again, and he grins, taking a lot of satisfaction in writing:

**My turn, Tom, keep that in mind for later if you want.**

He thinks about his question carefully; he doesn’t only want to know why Tom wants to live long, that answer could be simple for an ambitious person. He wants to know how he became so terrified that he thought it necessary to make more than one bloody Horcrux.

**How did you become so afraid of dying?**

 Letters appear slowly this time, he’d call it hesitant if that wouldn’t be incompatible with everything he thinks about Tom Riddle.

_ You just had to word it like that, didn’t you? But alright, I’m going to answer you as a sign of goodwill. _

_ I grew up in a Muggle orphanage in London during the 1930s and ’40s. Now I don’t know how good your historical knowledge is especially regarding Muggles, but that wasn’t a good time to grow up. First, there was the Great Depression and we had little food or anything else for that matter. We were a lot of orphans with no real chance to get out of that hellhole, and beside hunger and overall discomfort, dying of illness was a common thing.  _

_ Then Germany started its war, which only worsened the conditions and eventually led to the bombings of London. Fortunately, I spent most of the London Blitz at Hogwarts, but the summer before was already full of nights in the basement of the orphanage while the London suburbs were bombed. I never knew if I’d survive the night, even if I would’ve ignored the prohibition of using magic during the holidays.  _

_ The next summer, I begged Dumbledore to stay at Hogwarts, but he denied me. The Blitz just ended, but London was a mess, and nobody knew how long the Germans would stay away.  
I grew up with the threat of death constantly looming over my head and that didn’t fit well with my ambition to prove to myself and everyone else that I am more than a poor, unimportant orphan, just another unremarkable, forgettable name among hundreds, so I dedicated myself to making sure it would never happen. _

_ Does that satisfy your curiosity? _

He stares at the diary for a long time. He didn’t expect the answer to be this extensive and to make so much sense if he’s honest. Sure, he’s aware that it’s most likely also a way to gain some sympathy but his history knowledge is good enough to know it’s also _true_ , and he understands better than most the desire to prove himself. He grimaces a bit at the sudden feeling of compassion, reminding him of the last time he felt that for Voldemort, and quickly focuses on answering instead.

**I’m sorry you had to grow up like that; the threat of starving and violence is a horrible one to be surrounded with as a child, or ever really. Nevertheless, I don’t see how the side-effects of Horcruxes can possibly be worth it.**

_ You really don’t make it easy to decide what to ask first. Anyway, assuming we have time for you to answer all my questions I go with this one next: You speak like you have experience with growing up that way, at the same time you carry the name of two important families; how does that fit together? _

Well, he probably should have anticipated that, and he has to give it to Tom that he worded the question in a smart way. He sighs again, after the answer he just got it’s only fair to reciprocate truthfully.

**It’s a long, complicated story. I was born a Potter and my godfather, a Black, did a blood-adoption ritual. My parents died when I was one and my godfather went to prison, even if he was innocent. So I’m an orphan, too.**

**I was sent to live with relatives of my mother, who are Muggles and hated everything magical. I didn’t get much food, but I suppose the threat of violence was a different one, and eventually, my magic protected me. I found out I’m a wizard and that the current Lord Black was still alive. He took me in when I was 9.**

_ That answers my question but just throws up new ones. Interesting, these similarities between us. I take it you’re a Half-blood, then? _

He grimaces slightly at the reminder of their similarities, after all, it’s not the first time he hears that. But Tom doesn’t need to know that.

**I could consider that a question, but I’ll be nice and won’t. Yes, just like you. Which brings me to another point (and you’re right, it’s hard to settle on what to ask, but yeah, I suppose we do have time.) How does it make sense to support blood-purity so much if you’re not even a Pureblood yourself?**

_ Wow, that’s a big assumption you make there. I don’t support blood-purity, as you said it would be rather hypocritical of me. I don’t like Muggles very much, considering my upbringing, and I do see them as a potential threat to our world, but I’m aware that we need Muggleborns and that the idea of keeping bloodlines ‘pure’ could put an end to our world. _

Surprised would be an understatement, right until he remembers what Regulus once told him about Voldemort’s earlier goals. Seems like the fanatism about genocide was a result of the growing madness, then.

_ Next question, then: Even with the death of your parents and your godfather in prison, why were you left with a Muggle family when there was a Lord Black left, at least, and probably other family members of the Potters and Blacks? _

Merlin but why is he so set on asking personal questions? And how is he supposed to answer that? He hesitates, biting his bottom lip and even considers skipping the question, but in the end, he relents.

**I promised to be honest, so I will say first that I’m going to answer this question only partly. If you wanted a full answer, I would have to skip it.**

After all, he’s not going to tell him that he vanished his future self. Even with the diary unable to harm him, he doubts that it would go over well and he’s far from finished with his questions.

**There was a conflict, or well, a war really in the wizarding world when I was born. My parents sided with Dumbledore and were murdered by the opposing side. Dumbledore ignored their last will and sent me to my Muggle family, claiming it would be better for me to grow up away from the wizarding world. Lord Black was suspected to be on the opposing side, so he never thought I would want to live with him.**

Tom’s answer comes quickly again like he’s agitated, and Hadrian supposes he has to be about the topic of the war. He doubts any of the Malfoys ever wrote to him or that he has much of an idea what happened after he ended up in the diary. As a diary? Merlin but it’s weird to talk to a person in a book.

_ Bloody Dumbledore, but I can picture it very well. It sounds like something he would do. To put a magical child with Muggles, it’s like the man never learns. It’s not rare that they’re afraid of magic, I don’t get how he can condone a child to that. I’m glad you found a way out though. _

He stares at the text, dumbfounded by the admission of something that resembles sympathy – right until he feels the soft nudge against his Occlumency shields.

**You can stop that, Tom. You won’t be able to leach from my magic or life force, much less possess me. Also, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to fool me with false proclamations of compassion.**

**Anyway, while we’re on the topic: Why do you hate Dumbledore so much?**

For several minutes, there’s no response and he wonders if Tom is going to give up talking to him altogether, now that he discovered that the purpose of the diary won’t work with him. He doubts it though; there have to be too many questions he actually wants an answer to, and he’s proven correct when once again, words appear on the page.

_ Talking to you just gets more and more curious. There’s more than one reason, to be honest. Dumbledore was the teacher who delivered my Hogwarts letter and he was suspicious of me from the very beginning, believing what the Matron of the orphanage said about me. It stayed that way at Hogwarts, no matter that all my other teachers loved me, and that I was a model student. _

He snorts loudly because that’s such a good joke. Not that he doesn’t believe him, he’s sure Tom Riddle managed to be exceptionally charming, but ignoring that he doesn’t like Dumbledore either, the man was most likely correct in his suspicions, Chamber of Secrets and all that. Still, being suspicious of an _11-year-old_ isn’t very noble either.

_ He made it worse by denying me to stay at Hogwarts during the summers. I never understood how they could have a perfectly hidden, warded castle and send us Muggleborns back into the war. For always proclaiming his love for Muggles, he’s surprisingly ignorant of what is going on in their world. _

_ Now, to come back from something from the beginning: How do you know that this diary is a Horcrux? _

Well, he has to admit that Tom has a point with Dumbledore, not that it takes much to convince him of the Headmaster not being a good person. He yawns and, casting a Tempus, realises that it’s already long past midnight.

**That I’m going to answer another day. I don’t know how time works for you in there, but here it’s late and I’m going to sleep now. Until then, have fun, or whatever it is you do.**

He closes the diary, not waiting for a response and quickly gets ready for bed after he tucked it safely between the pages of Death’s book. All in all, it was a rather informative exchange and much of it surprised him if he’s honest. Maybe the decision to actually write in it really wasn’t as bad as he feared.

* * *

It takes Kreacher to wake him up the next morning and he’s still rubbing his eyes tiredly when he enters the kitchen.

“Hey kid, stayed up too late with your books again?” Regulus asks in amusement and he shakes his head, gratefully accepting his mug of coffee from Kreacher and quickly puts sugar and milk into it. Regulus, who prefers his coffee black, grimaces at the sight like he always does.

“No, I wrote to T- the diary,” he mumbles, taking a large sip and hoping Regulus didn’t notice his close slip.

Regulus raises a brow at him. Clearly, no such luck. “Learned something interesting?”

He hums and tilts his head, thinking over the conversation. “Well, we made a deal, a question for a question. Don’t look at me like that, I’m careful and we agreed that we can pass one if we don’t want to answer.”

It’s obvious that Regulus is conflicted between his general worry and his own curiosity, but after he summarised the conversation, he seems mostly appeased.

“Enough of teenage Dark Lords. Arcturus floo-called earlier, Cassiopeia and Blaise finally arrived last night and seeing that we normally go flying on a birthday anyway, I thought we could go over after breakfast?”

By now a lot more awake, he agrees enthusiastically. While Arcturus and Lucretia already arrived a week ago as planned, it took the other two a bit longer and he can’t wait to see them all.  

When they arrive at Black Manor, the three elder Blacks and Blaise are already waiting, and Hadrian can’t help but grin brightly at all of them. “I’m so glad you’re all finally here!”

“You’re only so happy because now you can pester us for knowledge and training even more,” Cassiopeia smirks, but it quickly softens, and she ruffles his hair. “I’m glad we’re here, too. Happy Birthday, kiddo.”

He swallows at the name and Blaise throws an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s give him his presents before he chokes on all those feelings.”

They settle down in the family sitting room with its black marble floor, light blue walls, and the grey sofas and armchairs, French doors opening towards the vast grounds. Two elves in pristine uniforms with the Black crest on their chests pop in immediately and bring sandwiches, coffee, and juice.

He receives a new broom from Arcturus who smiles and wishes him luck for the try-outs, Cassiopeia gives him a ritual set, containing different knives and common ingredients, Lucretia got him a collection of old tomes on Ancient Egyptian curses and Blaise a robe made by a famous Italian designer that has protective runes woven into the fabric, together with a book on duelling tactics. Regulus already gave him his presents this morning per their own little tradition, the typical books, and sweets and a full set of new Quidditch gear.

All the presents are so very thoughtful that he nearly chokes again, ignoring the knowledge that he’s still not used to having so much family and friends around him. Thankfully, they all ignore his little crisis, but Cassiopeia’s next question induces a whole new one.

“So, I’ve heard the Philosophers Stone mysteriously disappeared and Quirrell died shortly after. Dumbledore is convinced that the Dark Lord is responsible, but I have to admit that I have my doubts. Any chances that you two know what’s going on?”

He finds Regulus’ eyes across the room and they have a whole conversation between them, which of course doesn’t go as unnoticed as they would’ve liked.

“You know I won’t say a word, don’t you?” Blaise nudges him from his side and he sighs, finally nodding his defeat.

“I… might be responsible for that,” he allows, unable to suppress a faint smirk but keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him so that his hair hides most of his face.

There’s a long pause until Cassiopeia asks: “For what, the disappearance of the stone or Quirrell’s death?”

He grimaces, but after another look at Regulus who nods slightly, explains the whole story as best as he can, skimming over how exactly he knew that Voldemort possessed Quirrell, putting it down to his magic sensitivity, Legilimency, and his scar, or that he knew for sure that the whole thing was a set-up.

“I always said you were a bit mental,” Blaise mutters, but he’s grinning. “And you took Daphne with you? I’m insulted!”

He shrugs unapologetically. “Sorry, she ambushed me and took a vow, not my fault you sleep like a stone.”

The other reactions range from belated worry from Lucretia, over a silent nod of approval from Arcturus to enthusiastic pride from Cassiopeia, and he’s glad when they finally let the topic drop and he can escape on his new broom for a few games with Regulus and Blaise.

* * *

They leave for Germany three days later, taking a Portkey to Hamburg where the European Duelling Competition will take place. Cassiopeia decided at the last minute to accompany them and he thinks it might be good to have another adult; this way, he and Blaise can explore a bit for themselves and Regulus has a chance to take a tour through the wizarding side of the Red-light District with her.

Every time he thinks of the mental image of Cassiopeia and Regulus doing that he has to laugh, and it doesn’t bother him one bit that they deemed him and Blaise too young.

The competition will only start the next day, so they take their time to stroll down the bank of the river that winds itself through the whole city. They have a hotel in the wizarding district, which is in the heart of the town, opposite the huge harbour the city is famous for.

It’s Friday night and there are people sitting at the edge in groups, talking and laughing with lights reflecting in the dark water that throws waves against the stone walls. The wizard at the reception warned them that the Muggle side of the district they’re in is known for its alternative lifestyle, being the centre of the punker and squatting scene since the early ’80s. But they both enjoy getting an insight into something so different from what they’re used to.

Not that London doesn’t have its own corners of alternative culture, but somehow people tend to not explore their own surroundings as much as when they’re abroad.

“Hey look, that bar has a lot of obviously young people. Should we try if we get something to drink there?” Blaise smirks at him and he pulls his eyes away from the array of lights on the other side of the river, following his gesture.

He’s right, it’s a small pub at the bottom of a large staircase, graffiti lining the walls and a colourful crowd of people of every age lingering outside, sitting on the floor or the stairs with drinks in their hands. There’s music coming from somewhere and he smiles at the liveliness and excitement that hangs in the air.

“Sure, they can only say no, right?” He grins and pulls Blaise after him.

The bar is small, wooden tables, chairs and benches lining the walls and even inside there’s graffiti’s and political posters everywhere. A tabletop football stands in one corner with two pairs of people playing loudly, and it’s so full they have to be careful to not step on anybody’s feet.

He learned German a few weeks ago for this trip and greets the young girl behind the bar, though he wonders if she can actually understand him above all the noise.

She doesn’t bat an eye when he orders two beer and after he pays, leaving a tip, they walk back outside and sit down on a wall next to the water.

“Well then, let’s see if German beer lives up to its promise. Not that I have any idea how it’s supposed to taste,” Blaise grins and they cling their bottles together.

It’s bitter and takes a few sips to get used to, but they both actually like it and soon get another one. The wall is broad enough to lie on it sideways, feet dangling over the edge left and right and they vary between talking and soaking in their surroundings until Hadrian eventually remembers something he meant to ask about ever since he got Blaise’s letter.

“Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it it’s fine, but… You said your mum wasn’t around much and that it happens from time to time. Isn’t it hard, sometimes? I mean… What I mean to say is, if you want to talk about it you can, alright?” He grimaces a bit at his bumbling and cranes his neck to reassure himself that Blaise doesn’t take it the wrong way.

They’re lying with their heads together so it’s a bit of a stretch, but Blaise mirrors his gesture and smiles softly. “Thanks Har, I appreciate it. Yeah, it sucks sometimes. I mean, you know the reputation my mother has, and she does have a lot of changing husbands, but she always takes care to keep them away from me. I know she means well but it leads to her spending most of her time with them, so I don’t see much of her. It has always been like that, so I’m… used to it. Well, not really, it still sucks, and I thought…”

He trails off for a while and Hadrian stays silent, assuming that he’ll go on if he feels like it and just handing his bottle over.

When Blaise gives it back, he sighs and continues: “I thought that now that I’m at Hogwarts most of the year, she’d spend the time when I’m home with me. It’s not like I need her around constantly, but I barely saw her this summer.”

He can feel him shrug and reaches a hand above his head, squeezing Blaise’s shoulder when he finds it. “Yeah, I think I get what you mean. It would have been nice to at least have regular meals together or an afternoon from time to time, right?”

“Yes that, I think. She didn’t even mind overly much that I already came back to England.”

“Not to insult your mother, but that is, to be frank, a shit move. I know it’s not the same, but you’re always welcome to stay with us, alright?”

Blaise hums and squeezes his wrist before he pulls his arm back. They’re silent for a while until he pulls himself upright again, needing a moment before the world comes back into focus.

“Come on, I get us another beer and we make our way back before the two of them start to worry, or we get too drunk.”

“You’re a good friend. The best, really, you know that, right?” Blaise grins up at him and he laughs, patting his shoulders. It’s not even that funny, but the alcohol warms his body and makes his brain a bit fuzzy, and he’s simply too content to keep it in.

It takes them twice the time to walk back to the hotel and they arrive with their arms around each other’s shoulders, not walking completely straight and trying to improvise one of the songs they heard back at the bar.

Cassiopeia breaks into laughter at their sight and Regulus rolls his eyes in exasperation but can’t really hide his smile at their display. They couldn’t care less, grinning up at them both and happy that they can fall into their beds now.

* * *

Fortunately, there’s no hangover this time and they learn from Cassiopeia that beer isn’t nearly as strong as Firewhiskey. Regulus does remind them that they should be careful with alcohol in an unknown setting and he takes that seriously because he can admit that Regulus does have a point.

The Duelling Competition is impressive and humbling in equal measures. Not only is the display of magical power and variety a strong reminder of the show the elder Blacks gave him last year, but he finally really understands what Lucretia was talking about when she told him that physical fitness is just as important as magical power and knowledge.

The competition is separated between underage participants and adults, both containing 47 people – the best of each European country, including Turkey and Russia, and spreads over six days.

Day one starts with the adults; they’re split into five groups of nine people (two with ten). Those nine all duel against each other until the last three standing of each group move on to round two. 

The stadium is as big as a Quidditch arena and there are different settings in which duels take place, the first round being a thin forest with hills and uneven ground, ruins scattered sparsely over the area. The underage participants will face the same set-up, but only the next day because it does take some time to go through all five groups.

It doesn’t get boring once, though. The groups are decided by lot, but every single participant is so bloody talented that he couldn’t tell if anybody actually has an advantage. There are several duels happening at the same time and it’s impossible to make out which spells are used.

The rules are set by the International Wizard’s Duelling Committee and are rather simple: Only magical means may be used, no killing, no maiming, and injuries must be possible to be healed by a Healer within 24 hours. Additionally, there’s a list of prohibited dark spells; for one, those that fall into the category of the aforementioned rule, plus the Unforgivables, any dark family spells as they can’t be monitored beforehand and those that may be harmless if they’re undone quickly, as the Stone-Skin Spell Arcturus used on Lucretia last year. It’s possible that it takes some time for the Healers to reach a hurt participant, so they fall more or less under the second rule, too.

In conclusion, the first round is mostly a show of tactics, and Hadrian tries to take note of the different approaches. Some participants take it slow at the beginning, staying hidden and observing their opponents while they fight it out between them.

“It’s a smarter approach, isn’t it?” He asks the others and Cassiopeia inclines her head.

“Yes, it gives them a chance to observe the fighting styles and save their energy. These knock-out rounds can last a while, so it makes sense to lay low at the start. Though, if you aren’t careful you might be caught by surprise, like that one,” she remarks dryly, pointing in the direction of a small man who just got taken out by a stunner to his back, too immersed in the duel happening a few feet away from him to notice that a woman snuck up to him.

He keeps observing her and notices that she’s taking a middle way. She avoids getting involved in one-on-one duels but she’s also not staying in one place, trying to catch others by surprise. It obviously pays off, as she’s one of the last three that moves on to round two.

When the last group finishes, it’s already late evening, and they go out to eat in a small restaurant tucked away in the corner of one of the main churches that, to one side, still belongs to the wizarding district.

Blaise and he are still hyped up from the day and can’t stop talking over the different styles they witnessed, while Regulus and Cassiopeia watch on in fond amusement.

“At what age are you allowed to try out?” he eventually asks and Regulus laughs.

“I told you he’s going to ask on the first day,” he smirks at Cassiopeia who sighs and hands him a Galleon.

“I thought you would at least wait until you saw them tomorrow,” she grumbles in his direction, to which he grins sheepishly and shrugs,

“The age restriction is 15, which is unfortunate for you with your birthday so late in the year because the try-outs are from January to April,” Regulus says.

He sighs, but then perks up and nudges Blaise. “Hey, but your birthday is in August as well, so we can try out together!”

* * *

The next days go on like that. The second day belongs to the underage wizards and witches who, while far from the skills of the adults, deliver an impressive show. The British Champion is one of the first to be kicked out though, a 6th year Ravenclaw neither he nor Blaise recognise, and he blames it thoroughly on Hogwarts lacking education, which only reminds him of Lockhart.

The third and fourth day have another group set-up in a setting resembling a small village, this time with five in one group and the last two standing moving on. It goes faster than the first two days as there are only three groups, but after two whole days of sitting in the stadium it’s nice to already leave in the afternoon. Not that it’s not comfortable in their top box seats with catering.

The fifth and last real day of the competition finally has some one-on-one duels, taking place in an open, empty area. There are only six participants left for each age group and they’re split into pairs of two, with the winner moving on. For the adults, it’s the witch Hadrian observed on the first day who’s from Bulgaria and consistently displayed an impressive combination of power, tactics, and knowledge, tiring her opponent out and then striking by surprise. The other two are wizards from Norway and Malta.

For the underage group, it’s a wizard from Germany and two witches, one from Serbia and the other from Latvia. It’s not lost on any of them that nearly all of them were taught at Durmstrang.

The last round is once more all against all, but with only three left per group, it’s easier to follow what is going on.

The witch from Bulgaria wins, looking battered but proud, and rightly so. The wizard from Norway comes in second, taking it good-naturedly, while the one from Malta looks pretty miffed.

Amongst the underage group, the witch from Latvia carries the trophy home, followed by the German wizard, who looks disappointed but congratulates her honestly. It must be even worse, seeing that the competition took place in his home country.

The event ends with the Award Ceremony on the sixth day, the winners receiving prize money to the amount of 5000 Galleons.

Besides all the excitement and impressive spellwork, the most important thing Hadrian gets out of all of this is that, while he does know more spells than most of his friends, he has absolutely no experience in _actual_ duelling, and he vows to change that as soon as possible. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your feedback! <3

**Hey Tom, you’ve ever been to a duelling competition? We came back from the European Championship in Germany today and Merlin that was impressive, I feel like I don’t know anything about duelling.**

Hadrian is sitting in his bed, leaning against his headboard and legs pulled up to balance the diary on it. Blaise left his room an hour ago to go to bed, but he doesn’t feel like sleeping yet and couldn’t concentrate on any of his books, so he decided to write to Tom for the first time since he brushed him off after their last conversation.

_ Hello Hadrian. No, I never went to one up until now, though I always planned to.  
No offence, but you’re twelve so I suppose there’s a lot you don’t know yet. _

He rolls his eyes at the condescending comment but lets it go. In the end he does have a point – unfortunately, there _are_ many things he doesn’t know yet.

**I wonder how anybody ever called you charming. Not to sound arrogant, but I do think I know more than the average 12-year old.**

_ I’ll have you know that I can be very charming. If you remember, I already tried that, and you called me out on it. I’m only following your wishes here. But to give you the benefit of the doubt – how’s your schoolwork, smart boy? _

**Fair enough, though I don’t buy your cooperative act for a second.  
My schoolwork is excellent, I’m bored most of the time, to be honest. I don’t know if it’s a recent development, but the Hogwarts curriculum isn’t very demanding. The underage champion for Britain was one of the first to lose, and all the winners were students or graduates from Durmstrang.**

He realises only belatedly that he’s offering up information voluntarily and groans at his talkative mood.

_ One day you’ll have to tell me why you’re so mistrustful. Regarding Hogwarts and your boredom: I can’t tell you if it’s a ‘recent development’ because for one, I have no idea which year it is and for the other, what your skill level is. I did have the same problem, however, and studied for myself most of the time. _

Well, looks like he’s not the only one willing to share, but he suspects that it has to be rather boring, being contained in a diary.

**We’ll see. Yeah, I heard about your ‘astounding accomplishments,’ I think you’re still holding the records for the best OWLs and NEWTs, though I suppose you wouldn’t know about the latter yet. I’ll be nice and answer the implicit question for free: It’s currently summer 1992. Does it feel like 50 years passed?**

There’s a long pause before Tom answers.

_ No, it doesn’t feel like 50 years. That’s a lot of time, and you’re the first person I ever talked to, except for my… counterpart, a very long time ago. To answer your implicit question from this and the last time, being in here is hard to describe. It’s boring, often, but time passes differently and there’s not so much awareness of it. Still, I wouldn’t call it comfortable either. _

He tilts his head and watches as the words disappear back into the pages. He would feel more pity if Tom didn’t bring this onto himself, but he’s still a bit sorry for him.

**Well… I don’t know what you expected, really. But I would’ve thought that your ‘counterpart’ as you so nicely put it would have spent a bit more time keeping you up to date or something.**

_ Who’s asking implicit questions now, huh? While we’re at it, you still owe me an answer to how you knew that I’m a Horcrux. _

He grins, and when he realises what he’s doing scowls, ignoring that Atana is laughing at him.

**Evading the topic, are we? But you’re right I suppose. I have a…**

He breaks off, frowning and thinking quickly how to actually answer this without giving away more than he wants.

**I have a friend who knows a lot about the topic. I don’t know how much you’re aware of your whereabouts, but your ‘counterpart’ left you with the Malfoys, without telling them what you actually are. Lord Malfoy tried slipping you to a first-year and I intercepted you.**

It’s a vague answer but seeing that he can’t lie it’s the best he can do right now, and Tom will simply have to live with that.

_ Hm, that’s suspiciously imprecise. _

Of course he’d notice. He sighs, tapping his fingers against the book and pondering what to ask in return. If he actually wants to ask about the Chamber, he’d have to admit knowing about the diary’s purpose anyway…

**I do know you’re more than a Horcrux though, which leads me to my next question: How did you find out you’re descended from Slytherin?  
(Don’t worry, you don’t need to understand the correlation of that.)**

To his surprise, the answer comes quickly, or the first part, at least.

_ I take it back; you know too much for your age. _

_ I was always curious about my origins. For the longest time, I was convinced that my father had to be a wizard, but there was no record to be found for the name ‘Riddle.’ It didn’t take long to discover that – a ‘Mudblood’ in Slytherin. I don’t know how it is today, but my first few years in that house weren’t the nicest. _

He grimaces, having a good idea how that went but the flicker of sympathy turns into amusement at the following words.

_ Of course, they regretted their behaviour towards me soon enough. When I discovered that my father was the Muggle, I eventually researched my middle name and connected it to the Gaunts, who are the last direct descendants from the Slytherin line.  
Speaking of which, how does a Potter-Black speak Parseltongue? _

Well, he has to give it to him that he has dedication, but then again, he’d probably do the same if he didn’t have any connection to his family. Fantastic, another similarity.

**I wondered when you would ask that.**  
**It’s rather simple, really. There was a Peverell, long, long ago in the Potter line, the family has a distant connection to the Slytherin line as well. For you, that would be Cadmus Peverell, while for me it’s Ignotus.**  
 **I don’t really know how it works, but it’s a blood-line gift and they often disappeared with the inbreeding and reappeared with fresh blood in the lines, just like Half-bloods tend to have more power than those from generations of pure lines. Really, I don’t get how blood-supremacists don’t understand that.**

_ Nobody said wizards were particularly logical, especially the Purebloods. It’s what makes them easy to manipulate.  
Interesting, that. I wonder if it’s really only fresh blood that prompts those abilities to reappear. _

He has a good idea what prompted it for him but he’s not going to think about that, much less mention it.

**Who knows, magic is weird like that. It would be interesting to do some research into it, now that I think about it.  
If you know your father is a Muggle and your mother a witch, do you know what happened to them?**

He can’t tell why he wants to know, but somehow, he’s curious.

_ Well… My mother died during my birth, which is why I thought her to be the Muggle. I was convinced magic would’ve saved her. As for my father – when this Horcrux was created, he was still alive as far as I know. _

**In other words, you were already planning to kill him?**

_ I count that as another question, you can keep it in mind if you really want to know. _

Now that he thinks about it, it’s really more rhetorical than anything else. If the man was still alive but abandoned his son, he doubts that Tom would’ve let him live.

**Not really, I think I know the answer.**

_ You do make a lot of assumptions, but as you please. What do you know about the purpose of the diary, behind the obvious one of it being a Horcrux? _

Figures that he would ask that.

**You were created with the purpose to serve as a tool to reopen the Chamber of Secrets which, really, is the only reason to make something as breakable as a bloody diary into a Horcrux, ignoring the fact that it’s a stupid idea altogether.  
Both, I mean, making Horcruxes and letting a Basilisk roam a school full of children.**

**Slytherin didn’t even put it there for that purpose, but I suppose it’s not your fault that the legend is passed on wrongly.  
Anyway. Normally, people who write into the diary feed you magic and energy, enabling you to eventually possess them and do your dirty work, because you couldn’t go on after killing a student if you wanted to continue going to school.**

**No offence, but what did you think would happen?  
(That’s more a rhetorical question, too, but feel free to answer in your own defence.) Didn’t you say you don’t hate Muggleborns?**

Looking back at what he has written, he sighs a bit at his own rant but he didn’t say anything untrue. It _is_ a bloody stupid idea, all of it. It once again takes a while until Tom answers.

_ Wow, I don’t even know where to start. I’m impressed that you actually know about that, I’m insulted because you’re impertinent, I’m curious about what you think Slytherin put a Basilisk in the school for, and I wonder why it is that you speak of Horcruxes in the plural. _

_ To answer your rhetorical question though, at least partly: I wasn’t caught, was I? And I never meant for Myrtle to die, she was at the wrong place, at the wrong time. If you researched the petrification victims, you would find that they weren’t all Muggleborn. I merely wanted to demonstrate and prove my legacy.  
To be honest, after a lot of time within this diary, I can admit that it wasn’t my best idea. _

He raises an incredulous eyebrow and he wouldn’t believe a word of it if it wasn’t for the oath.

**I may have to believe you, but I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me. I’ll let it rest though. I do have a few more questions about the Chamber and why you needed the diary in the first place if it’s that simple.  
First of all, is there more in there than the Basilisk? I heard it was also Slytherins personal quarters.**

_ Yes, there’s also his personal study and a small library, but they weren’t in the best condition when I last visited. It’s rather damp down there, but not completely useless, either. _

Well, that’s rather forthcoming, all things considered.

_ Do you plan to look for the chamber? I could help you, you know? _

**Oh yeah sure, and you’d do that out of the pure goodness of your heart I suppose? Thanks, but I think I’ll manage.**

After all, he could simply ask Death, but he likes the idea of finding it on his own.

**Don’t tell me where it is, but how did you find it?**

There’s a long pause and he wonders how quickly Tom might be pissed off by his general mistrust and disregard, but it’s not like he cares all that much. As interesting as writing with him is, he doesn’t trust him at all, nor will he pretend that he does. And while he’s surprisingly forthcoming and, dare he say it, _friendly_ , he’s pretty sure that it’s more due to Tom still having some hope of manipulating him, or to simply fight off his boredom.

_ Well, we could make another deal.  
I searched for it, obviously. I had some clues, but seeing that you don’t want my help, I’m not going to indulge you. _

_ Anyway, my question: How do you know about the uses of the diary? _

He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and wonders if he can really answer this, but eventually decides that it’s not really possible without giving away more than he wants to.

**Sorry Tom, I think you finally found a question that I have to skip. Got something -**

He stops writing when a familiar cold wraps around him and he looks up, seeing Death standing at the end of his bed.

“Hey there, give me a second,” he greets with a smile and turns his attention back to the diary.

**Nevermind, I have to go. Think of something else for the next time. Bye!**

He closes the thin book and makes sure to put it between the pages of Death’s book, before turning towards said companion, who is already sitting in an armchair next to his bed.

“Learned something interesting?” Death asks, some amusement ringing in his voice.

Tilting his head, he thinks over the conversation he just had und hums. “Well, more or less. It’s curious to see how, well, _sane_ he seems to be, considering that the diary only holds half of his soul.”

“Hm, yes, but you have to remember that it’s not as easy as that. It’s hard to quantify a soul. His became more and more unstable the more Horcruxes he made and while the best way is to think of it in a broad sense of percentages, it also has a lot to do with the order in which he made them and how little time passed in between. He was still sane when he made the diary and that shows in the behaviour now,” Death explains, bony fingers tapping a rhythm against the armrest.

He thinks about it for a moment before answering, “That makes sense, but didn’t you say once that the later Horcruxes hold less of his soul?”

“They do, but not only because he already made some, but because he murdered a lot of people in between and his soul became more and more fractured. So, when he made another Horcrux, it was easier to break off only a fragment, which in return fractured the remaining soul even more.”

He nods in understanding and trails his fingers over Atana who has her head lying in his lap. “He said he didn’t plan for Myrtle to die, doesn’t a murder need to be on purpose for the process to work?” he asks eventually, remembering that particular part and the feeling he had that Tom didn’t tell him the whole truth.

Death inclines his head. “Indeed, but for one, while he might not have planned to kill her or anyone else, he still let a Basilisk roam the school simply for his own gain and was aware of the very real risk he was taking, and for the other, that is one of the reasons the ritual didn’t go completely right and damaged his soul more than it would have, normally.”

“Idiot,” he murmurs under his breath, followed by a yawn. “Do you think it’s dangerous, that I’m talking to him?” he asks with a frown and an uncertain look in the direction of his nightstand.

Death shrugs and sounds unconcerned when he says, “As long as you don’t tell him anything that he could later use against you. If and when you unite the Horcruxes and resurrect him, he’ll probably keep a lot of his memories of your conversations, so in that regard you should be careful.”

“I thought so, but there’s not much he could use against me, per se, isn’t it?” he asks. It’s something he wondered for some time now and, ignoring the secrets he keeps from most people he didn’t come up with much that could pose an actual danger to him. “I mean as long as I don’t, I don’t know, tell him how to enter Grimmauld Place or more specifics about my weaknesses? I didn’t even tell him about who I am, exactly, or what happened in the last few decades. Voldemort rarely wrote to him, so he has no idea what happened after the diary was created.”

“No, there really isn’t much, seeing that you don’t really want to fight him as long as he returns sane. It might even serve to your advantage, that you get to know him beforehand. Though keep in mind that he’ll regain the memories of his other Horcruxes and the main soul as well, so there’s no guaranty that he won’t be out for revenge, anyway. Don’t get too attached, is all I’m saying.”

He snorts and shoots him an incredulous look. “No worries there, I’m only after some information.”

Death doesn’t answer, only standing up in one fluent motion and crossing the distance to his bed. “You should sleep, little one. Oh, but one thing though, do you plan on taking the diary to school with you?”

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. He didn’t really think about it yet if he’s honest. “Might be useful and prevent some of the boredom. As long as I keep it in your book it’s safe and seeing that I want to take that one with me, I wouldn’t be all that comfortable with leaving it here either. Not that I don’t trust Regulus to stay away from it, but I’d rather not take any chances.”

“Makes sense, though you really need to take care not to lose it,” Death nods. “Anyway, goodnight.” He brushes his fingers over Hadrian’s head and then disappears from the room.

He sinks down in his sheets, Atana adjusting her position so that she’s curled up mostly on top of him, and he quickly falls asleep.

* * *

The remaining weeks of the holidays pass more quickly than he would’ve liked. Blaise decides to not return to Italy after both Hadrian and Regulus assured him several times that he’s welcome to stay, and they spend a lot of time over at Black Manor.

Both of them are planning to try out for the Quidditch team in the coming year and they practice a lot, alternating between passing a Quaffle between them, Hadrian trying his luck as a keeper so Blaise can train a bit – not that he puts up much of a challenge, it’s really not his strongest suit – and Seeker games for his sake.

It’s nice to have Blaise here, especially because Regulus has to work most of the time. When he comes home, they often floo back accompanied by Cassiopeia and the two adults instruct them in duelling.

Well, that might be a bit euphemistic if he’s honest; mostly, they spend an hour trying to dodge and block an onslaught of spells they have no chance to really evade. But after they witnessed the level of skill at the Duelling Championship, both of them are set on getting better and this is the best way to train their reflexes and put some groundwork for actual duelling.

While Regulus and Cassiopeia only use harmless spells like stunners and mild stinging hexes, they’re both bruised and sore from all the dropping, rolling and dodging, but they also see some progress in their agility and so they don’t really complain.

They still spend their evenings in front of the fire in the library; it’s a small tradition of Regulus and him he wouldn’t give up for anything and Blaise settles into it seamlessly.

They meet up with Daphne and Draco twice, but they’re all acutely aware that Theo is missing and leave it at those two times. It’s more obvious that something is wrong when they’re all together, increasing the worry, and while none of them says it out loud, they don’t really have to.

Only Daphne heard from him a few times, his father obviously unsatisfied with him and keeping him from visiting any of his friends. Apparently, Lord Nott would only let him meet them at Black Manor or Grimmauld Place to gather some more information, but it would put Theo in the unfortunate position of actually having to pass something on and so he avoids it altogether.

Hadrian tried, through Daphne, to convince him that they could come up with something but Theo declined. He’s not sure if it’s due to him being scared that his father might not be satisfied with harmless information or because he’s scared that he might actually take more drastic measures to get something out of Theo.

It’s a constant worry in the back of his mind and the only reason why he’s actually looking forward to going back to Hogwarts. He knows that it’s not his fault, in the strictest sense, but he can’t help but feel somewhat responsible.

During the weekends they occasionally meet up with Sirius and Remus, who both took an unexpectedly quick liking to Blaise. He had been a bit worried, remembering Sirius’ early attempts to dissuade him from his Slytherin friendships, but his godfather did become a lot calmer and, if you don’t take Blaise’s aloof attitude for arrogance, it’s probably hard to not like him.

Sirius even visits Black Manor for one Saturday and while there’s definitely still some lingering tension, it’s a lot more comfortable than the previous times. He does try to pull some pranks on all of them but between him and Blaise, they manage to prevent most of them and gain some points from the other Blacks by keeping their hair from turning pink.

One thing that still bothers him about Sirius is the obvious strain on his and Regulus’ relationship. It might be a lot better than it was nearly a year ago, but he knows Regulus well enough to notice the way he holds himself stiffly, how he’s overly friendly and distanced and avoids being alone with Sirius.

He doesn’t think he can do much about it, though. Regulus always avoided talking about his brother and the more Hadrian learns about their childhood and youth, the more he can take a guess that there’s a lot of baggage between them that they simply have to sort out between themselves.

He avoids writing to Tom again, and while it would be easy to put it down to them being busy, it’s also a bit Death’s fault. Every time his eyes fall onto the diary, he remembers his warning towards the end of their conversation and while a part of him still thinks it’s ridiculous to even think he might ‘become attached,’ another is acutely aware that Death is rarely ever wrong about anything.

* * *

Towards the end of August, there’s a small ball at Black Manor, as an official reintroduction of the Blacks into British Pureblood society.

Since the three elder Blacks arrived, they all slowly settled and made themselves a home, Arcturus starting to rekindle his numerous relations within the Ministry, Lucretia getting into voluntary work at St. Mungos and Cassiopeia… well, whatever it is Cassiopeia does, Hadrian still doesn’t know exactly.

It’s more a summer party than a ball if he’s honest, his gaze sweeping over the assembled witches and wizards that are mingling in the vast garden of Black Manor. There’s a buffet to one side and small, high tables distributed over the area, fairy lights hanging in the trees and chairs scattered around the small lake that has lanterns floating on the water.

It’s a mixed gathering, mostly families that are known to be dark or neutral and, like at the Malfoys ball, some of the higher-ranking Ministry officials.

Unlike at the Malfoys, he can’t stay in the background this time, seeing that he’s the heir and all that, and is currently making the rounds with Regulus. It would have been less annoying if not every second person asked about him being a Parselmouth, and those that don’t are mostly mothers or grandmothers inquiring if he already has an engagement contract.

The latter Regulus handles, telling them in a friendly but sure manner that there won’t be any contracts as long as he doesn’t want one, seeing that he represents 2 other houses as well, and the former is rather dependent on who they’re talking to.

He discovers that it’s an advantage with the darker families; Arcturus and Cassiopeia both told him that many of them were ranging from uncertain to affronted after he revealed Voldemort’s blood-status over New Years, but are now rather cautious with voicing any complaints, much to his amusement.

It’s a different matter with the people from the Ministry though, and he had to actively hold himself back from rolling his eyes several times already.

They just left Lord and Lady Greengrass who were rather nice to talk to, when they’re intercepted by Fudge. He sighs inaudibly before plastering a smile on his face once again, hoping that it doesn’t look as fake as it feels.

He catches Blaise eye who smirks at him before Regulus nudges him slightly.

“Lord Black, Heir Potter-Black, a pleasure to meet you!” Fudge greets them cordially, shaking both of their hands with a bit too much force. “What a nice little party, and such a surprise that all the Blacks have moved back here.”

“Minister Fudge, I hope you’re well?” Regulus greets with a slight bow of his head, mirrored by Hadrian.

His lips twitch a bit at the hidden annoyance only visible in the slight downturn of Regulus’ lips, but he quickly gathers himself.

“Of course, of course. Can we expect your grandfather back in the Wizengamot, then?” Fudge asks and Regulus grip on his shoulder tightens the slightest bit.

“No, I’ll stay as Lord Black, though I’m sure my grandfather will be in and out of the Ministry. You know how it is.”

Fudge’s smile dims a bit, something that he finds rather curious before the Minister turns his attention to him.

“Heir Potter-Black, looking forward to the new term then?”

He tilts his head as if to think about the question. “Well, I do look forward to seeing my friends more often, but I feel like the Hogwarts curriculum is a bit lacking, to be honest,” he says evenly, observing Fudge’s expression closely.

The man looks mostly confused for a moment as if he doesn’t know if he should agree because it would go against Dumbledore or be angry because it’s the school in his country.

“I’m sure someone with your talent it could feel that way,” he eventually allows, glancing at Regulus who only watches them, not giving anything away. “But I’m sure not all of the students see it that way.”

He could press the point but doubts that now is the time for it and simply inclines his head.

“I do find myself curious though, is it true what the Prophet reported at the beginning of the summer?” Fudge asks, probably one of the main questions he has.

He grits his teeth to not show how annoyed he is by it and smiles. “Yes, they indeed managed to print the truth. Why Minister, you’re not superstitious and believe that a blood-line gift is inherently evil, are you?”

Fudge looks alarmed, again glancing at Regulus before he quickly shakes his head. “Of course not, of course not, as long as you’re aware that the use of Parselmagic is classified as dark I’m sure there’s no problem.”

He hides a laugh with a cough, nodding his agreement and hoping that the Minister is through with them now, but no such luck.

“I do wonder where you got that from, I don’t think it’s a usual thing for the Potters or the Blacks?”

“No it’s not, but I’m sure it’s public knowledge by now that I also got accepted as the Peverell heir?” he asks with a frown, not for the first time today, either.

“Ah yes, I heard. But still…” Fudge trails off, looking at him expectantly and this time he doesn’t manage to completely suppress his sigh.

“Well, the Peverells have a distant relation to the Slytherins. I’m not a direct descendent like the Gaunts have been but nobody knows exactly how these inheritances work. I suspect it might have to do with bringing new blood into pure lines, but really, it’s a mere theory. I’m not even sure why magic accepted me in the line while it didn’t happen with my father, as far as I know.”

Fudge hums and regards him for a moment until he obviously decides that he’s finished with this line of questioning **,** saying instead, “That’ll make for some influence, later on, dear boy. But I’m sure you’re not all that interested in politics.” He smiles genially like he thinks neither he nor Regulus would notice the badly hidden question behind it.

“Oh no, I’m very interested Minister. After all, it’s the future of our community, right?” he asks sweetly, getting at least some satisfaction out of the short flash of worry in Fudge’s eyes.

“Certainly, certainly. Do you plan to give your seats to a proxy, then?”

“Yes, of course,” he says with a decisive nod. “I’m sure either Lord Black or one of the other family members will be able to help out next year, seeing that there won’t be a reason for me to be emancipated early.”

Regulus coughs next to him and a quick glance at him reveals the mirth dancing in his eyes, while Fudge looks even more on edge.

“Ah yes, that does make sense. Any ideas on your, ah, affiliation then?” Fudge asks, obviously not longer bothering with trying to be subtle in any way.

“Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it, Minister?” Regulus says before he can answer, and he has to bite his tongue to not laugh.

Fudge looks taken aback, his eyes flitting between them before he quickly nods. “Of course, my apologies. Well then, I have to… It was a nice talk, Lord Black, Heir Potter-Black,” he stammers before bowing his head jerkily and turning on his heel.

As soon as he’s out of hearing range, Hadrian hides his laughing behind his hand, pressing his shoulder against Regulus’ for a moment. “Merlin, I can’t believe this is our Minister,” he mutters when he got his composure back.

Regulus sighs but is smiling slightly and squeezes his shoulder. “Not only you, believe me. Anyway, I think we greeted everyone who’s important. Off with you, spend some time with your friends.”

Thankfully, the rest of the evening is much more relaxed for him and at least his friends find some amusement in his retelling of Fudge’s little show. From then on, it’s actually a rather nice evening; it’s still uncharacteristically warm and they sit beside the small lake, drinking butterbeer and chatting amongst themselves, with the quiet hum of music and people talking in the background.

The only thing missing is Theo. There was no question amongst the family that the Nott’s wouldn’t be invited after the New Year’s Gala and while he understands perfectly why, it pains him that his friend is missing out on another thing because of his idiot of a father. While Neville also couldn’t come, they at least exchanged letters over the holidays so it’s not as bad.

He’s rather surprised to realise that he’s actually looking forward to returning to Hogwarts, not only because of Theo but for the time he’ll be able to spend with all of his friends. Well, and because he still wants to try his luck with finding the Chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! :) 
> 
> Also, the next chapter might be a bit later than next weekend because I'll be on holidays for a week and don't know yet how much I'll be able to write. God-children can be very demanding. :D <3


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your feedback, you really make writing this story an even greater delight! <3

Regulus has just apparated into Grimmauld Place when he hears the floo chime. He sighs, hoping that it’s just Arcturus or Cassiopeia because he’s tired, annoyed, and wants nothing more than to drink a coffee and have a smoke.

Hadrian returned to Hogwarts the day before and he’s already feeling his absence, work is currently a nightmare, stuck as he is on the experiments how life force and magic come into existence and how it’s determined, and he still has to prepare for the Wizengamot session the coming weekend.

After telling Kreacher to bring him some coffee up to the sitting room, he takes the stairs two at a time to finally get rid of that bloody ringing and doesn’t manage to prevent himself from groaning when he sees Sirius’ head in the flames.

“Hey, do you mind if I come through for a moment?” Sirius asks as soon as he crouches down, the green flames distorting his face.

He does, but he’s not inclined to explain that to Sirius and so he just nods and flicks his wand to open the connection for him, stepping back.

“Hey, what brings you here?” he asks when they’re sitting in the two black armchairs and he got his coffee from Kreacher, who simply ignored Sirius’ presence.

“Hello to you too. I tried reaching you for half the day,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes, and he quickly takes a sip of his coffee to not snap at him.

“You do know that I have a job, right?” he asks with a raised brow and it still comes out more sarcastic than he intended.

Sirius just shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. Are you still friends with Sni- Snape?”

“Well,” he says slowly, ignoring the near slip and wondering what makes _that_ question important enough to bother him right now. “Yes, but why would you want to know that?”

“Could you ask him if he would make Wolfsbane for Remus?”

He only stares for a moment, stunned that Sirius has the audacity to just ask this, as if it isn’t one of the most complicated potions in existence or like Severus isn’t someone he hated nearly as much as his family through his whole time at school. Regulus is aware that both sides had a lot of responsibility for the constant fights between all of them, but that doesn’t make this request reasonable, at all.

“First of all, why don’t you buy it from someone else? Second, why don’t you ask him yourself, and third – you can’t really think that’s a good idea?!” he finally says after swallowing down his annoyance about Sirius only coming to him if he wants something. Not that he’s all that keen on having more contact with his brother, but still.

He thought that he managed to sound rather neutral, but Sirius’ scowl tells him that he probably wasn’t that successful.

“What, afraid his opinion of you will suffer if you ask him to help a _werewolf_?” Sirius sneers and something within him snaps at the condescension.

“Are you bloody serious? And I swear to Merlin, if you answer that with a pun, I’ll kick you out of this house faster than you can finish that sentence,” he grinds out, digging his fingers into the armrest of his chair. “It’s a stupid idea because I can’t even remember a time when there wasn’t a huge pile of hatred between you and Severus and I don’t see why, if for whatever reason it is important to you that he’s the one making the potion, you’re not asking him yourself. Or Remus, for that matter. You’re just too bloody proud to do it and I’m not getting involved with your teenage grudges!”

“Oh yeah, neutral Regulus, it’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” Sirius drawls, rolling his eyes and he suddenly feels like he’s 15 again, and it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does to discover that his brother still thinks of him as a coward.

He jumps up and paces in front of the hearth, trying hard to keep his temper in check. Any other day it might not have angered him this much, but right now he’d like to have a nice duel with his brother. Or a fistfight, come to think of it.

But he’s not 15 anymore, and he’s not going to let Sirius talk over him any longer; he’s overworked and tired, he misses Hadrian already and he worked so bloody hard the last decade to make up for the mistakes he made when he was younger.

“Salazar, you’re so self-righteous I wonder how anybody puts up with you,” he sneers at Sirius, who jumps up at the insult.

But he’s past caring now, past trying to listen, and all the things that piled up over the years start spilling out. “You always thought of yourself as so noble, but you know why our parents never tried too hard getting you back under their thumb? Because I took your place so you could have what you always wanted. You thought of yourself as so progressive, but you simply chose the other extreme while I actually researched. I didn’t agree with a lot of their opinions, but I also didn’t agree with yours and so it wouldn’t have made any sense for me to follow you, even ignoring that they would’ve raised hell if I did.”

Sirius opens his mouth to say something, but he shakes his head and glares at him, continuing with his rant. Now that he started, he just can’t stop it for one more second. “You thought of yourself as so strong, always running with your head against the wall but just because I work differently from you, you always disregarded me. You constantly told me how soft I am, how much of a coward, but you never even _tried_ to understand me. I always loved you, no matter if you got sorted into Gryffindor or insulted all of your family, but as soon as you found someone better, you replaced me without a second thought.”

He takes a deep breath and adds quietly, “Your love to me always was conditional, and you don’t get to stand here and act as if you still have the higher ground because you fucking don’t, so just leave me alone with your judgement and blame.”

He’s panting slightly when he’s finally finished and Sirius stares at him, his expression morphing from disbelief over hurt to anger and he’s already cursing himself for losing his temper.

“So what, I should have stayed here? I offered you to come with me but you still became a bloody Death Eater, don’t think just because you don’t have a mark I don’t know about it,” Sirius spits, hands trembling at his sides and Regulus thinks that the look in his eyes reminds him vaguely of Bellatrix. “I always took the blame for you and you never did anything to stand up for me, you always did exactly what they wanted you to do!”

“Yes, because I never picked up the pieces of you after mother tore into you; because it would have made so much sense to follow in your _glorious_ footsteps and get locked up and beaten down with you, right? And for Salazar’s sake, stop accusing me of siding with the Dark Lord, you have absolutely no idea what I did or what I’m doing!”

They’re standing across from each other and Regulus is nearly shouting by now, his hands balled into fists to prevent himself from reaching for his wand. He can feel all the fury and disappointment that had nearly 20 years to fester unravel faster than he can comprehend, and it’s not helping that Sirius is just so bloody stubborn.

“Well, you still took the mark, didn’t you? Or at least you supported him!” Sirius snarls, gesticulating wildly and looking like a cornered animal getting ready to attack.

“You have no idea what I did to –“ he breaks off, not that far gone to tell Sirius even more things he never wanted to mention again. “You know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he sighs, most of the fight leaving him. He’s better than this, he’s _not_ going to let the fact that his brother gave up on him a long time ago get to him any longer.

“Considering that you’re currently the guardian of my godson, I feel like you really should!”

It brings the anger back in the blink of an eye and he has Sirius pinned against the wall with his wand under his chin before either of them realises what is happening. “Don’t you dare pull him into this, I’d die for him, I never gave up on him and I never will, and at least I didn’t put my own desire for revenge ever above him. _Don’t you dare_ to threaten me Sirius or I’ll make your life a living hell!”

Sirius stares at him, wide-eyed and his mouth open. Then he deflates, all the tension leaving him, and he sags against the wall, guilt prominent in his expression. “I’m sorry Reggie –“

“Don’t call me that!” he says flatly, marginally calmer now. But his hands are still trembling and he has to bite his tongue to centre himself and actually step back, lowering his wand and ignoring his racing heart.

Hurt joins the guilt but Sirius nods, swallowing before he says, “Alright, I’m sorry just – tell me what’s going on, then? You said I have no idea what you did but…”

He trails off but it’s obvious what he wants, and Regulus rolls his eyes at the presumptuousness. “No, as I already said I don’t have to explain myself to you and I don’t trust you, Sirius, haven’t for a long time. And you don’t trust me either, so let’s leave it at that and just fuck off, will you?!”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, spinning around and quickly walking out of the room, slamming the door to the library shut behind him as soon as he reaches it. He waits until he feels the wards adjust themselves before he drops down onto the sofa, bending over and burying his face in his crossed arms. It’s nearly dark in here but the familiarity and domesticity he usually associates with this room dispel any remaining anger, leaving just bitterness and a hollow pain behind.

It’s not only that he’s tired of his struggles with Sirius or that it hurts more than it should that his brother still has more or less the same opinion of him like when they were children, but the conversation is replaying in his mind again and again and brings back memories that he would have preferred to leave alone for, well, forever if he could help it.

In spite of what he said to Sirius, he’s more than aware that he joined the Death Eaters mostly on his own volition, that it’s true that he never really stood up to their parents and that he was at least an accomplice to the things the Dark Lord and his followers did in the last war.

He might not have gone on raids because shortly after being initiated he started his position in the Department of Mysteries, but killing innocents isn’t the only thing to make him carry some responsibility.

Sirius’ words cut right into that part of his mind that is still telling him that he carries some blame, that he was a stupid idiot who chose the wrong path and no matter how much he tries to make up for his own ignorance, it’ll never be enough.

It also brings back the doubts he tries to silence most of the time; if what he plans to do isn’t completely, utterly mental, if it won’t just make everything worse – trying to resurrect the Dark Lord on his own. There’s no guarantee that he’ll be sane, that he won’t go back to his fanatic plans of genocide, power, and destruction immediately – and then Regulus will be responsible for his return.

What if he starts another war? What if it costs even more lives, what if the Dark Lord will still be set on killing Hadrian? _What if he succeeds?_ It doesn’t matter that they both agreed to take this route, how equal their relationship is, he’s the adult between the two of them and there will be nobody else to blame if Hadrian dies. And he knows that he could never forgive himself for that.

Right now, they have the possibility to destroy the Horcruxes. The one residing within Hadrian would come with some difficulties and he’s still not convinced that he wants to take the risk of him dying for it, not even with it being only temporary, but one is much better than _six_. Besides, restoring the soul will certainly make him stronger, regardless of sanity.

If they destroyed the Horcruxes, there would only be his wraith to deal with and his research into Soul Magic, as well as what he learned from his talks with Death, suggest that he’s going to be easier to deal with, that he’s weak in his current state and would be even weaker if most of his soul pieces are gone for good.

Isn’t it kind of selfish, wanting to resurrect him in the hope that he will do some good for their world, that he won’t be as bad? After all, it’s not like they don’t have some influence themselves, like they couldn’t try and reach at least some of their goals on their own.

But then, it’s not only about that. He’ll most likely return one way or another and at least they have the chance of improving the odds, haven’t they?

He groans and falls backwards onto the sofa, flicking his wand at the fireplace. He overpowers the spell and the flames shoot high, causing him to jump and curse under his breath until he manages to reduce them to a normal height. Maybe he should try and get some of that frustration out of his system, but he doesn’t feel like duelling would help.

He lies back down and sighs, turning his head a bit to stare into the dancing flames; he doesn’t know how to come to an actual decision and right now, he wouldn’t mind if Sirius maybe vanished, just for a year or something. He wouldn’t have this crisis if the git just kept his mouth shut, and he hates himself a bit for letting it affect him so much.

But sulking won’t get him anywhere either, so after closing his eyes for a few minutes and soaking in the warmth of the fire, he pulls himself up again and wanders the length of the aisles, trying to sort out his tangled mind.

First of all, it’s not only his decision; as young as Hadrian still is, he is more or less in the centre of it all, however much Regulus loathes the fact. Then, they possess as much information as they can possibly have, and Death basically confirmed that their plan is sound.

And last but not least, letting the Dark Lord be resurrected with most of the Horcruxes destroyed is a guarantee that he’ll be insane, while they have none that they’ll be able to defeat him. There are still more than enough Death Eaters left that will jump at the chance to serve him again no matter how mad he is, and a whole lot of others who will simply be too scared to deny him.

His opinion on the worth of the resistance behind Dumbledore or the capability of the Ministry hasn’t changed over the last decade and looking at it as rationally as he can, the risk of relying on either of them is higher than with following their actual plan. Not that this is anything new, there’s a reason why they decided as they did, after all.

Still, he feels restless and agitated and no matter how many times he thinks it through, in the end, he floos over to Black Manor.

Only Cassiopeia is there, and she looks surprised for the fraction of a second until she apparently finds something in his expression and ushers him into her study, pushing him into an armchair and ordering tea from an elf.

“Alright, what happened?” she asks as soon as she sits down in the chair next to him, crossing her legs and accepting her mug with a gracious nod.

He bites his lip and fiddles with his sleeve, wondering if it’s really the right thing to do.

But he knows that, if anybody understands, it’s this part of the family and that she’ll probably be the most reasonable about the whole thing.

So, he takes a deep breath and tells her everything; how he had some doubts before joining the Dark Lord and was even more disappointed and appalled when he found out what being a Death Eater really means, how he discovered what the Dark Lord did to achieve immortality, how he found the Horcrux and then managed to trick the Dark Lord into letting him work in the Department of Mysteries.

To her credit, she only raises an incredulous brow when he tells her about his, admittedly very mad, plan to restore his sanity and doesn’t interrupt him once.

He smiles faintly in response and shrugs but then hesitates.

He had a discussion with Hadrian the night before he returned to Hogwarts, about how they’re going to handle this particular topic with the three Blacks. The main problem is that, without disclosing his relationship with Death, they’d be unable to tell them anything about their plans or the information they have.

It’s something that bothered both of them ever since they told them about Quirrell and the theft of the stone, knowing that there are only so many flimsy excuses they would buy.

They agreed that their possible support is going to be crucial and that there’s not that much risk in telling them, actually less than with keeping them in the dark – they even asked Death about it and he confirmed that it might be a good idea. And if anyone can accept Death mentoring a child, it’s probably the Black family. Or most of them, anyway.

Still, they never decided on when or how to tell them and he doesn’t want to break Hadrian’s trust by doing it without asking him first.

On the other hand, Hadrian appeared to be mostly relieved about not having to keep so many secrets but worried about actually telling them himself, so he might as well appreciate it. Not to mention that, as long as he explains the circumstances, he’ll most likely understand his reasons, especially because it’s only Cassiopeia and not all of them.

He shakes his head to refocus and says, “Alright, this is not only my story to tell but I talked it through with Hadrian and he did agree that we can share this with you. I’m not going to keep it a secret from him that I’m telling you this, but do me a favour and keep it to yourself for now?”

The slightest frown appears on Cassiopeia’s forehead, but she nods slowly and gestures for him to continue.

He takes another deep breath and starts at the very beginning; how Hadrian contacted him and their meetings, how it took a long time until there was trust between them and Hadrian moved in, and how it took even longer until he told him about how he actually knows so many things he couldn’t possibly know.

Cassiopeia looks more than curious by now and he smirks faintly. He knows that they already told them parts of the story but the angle was completely different, and she’s smart enough to guess that this is going somewhere else.

He stalls a bit more, pouring another cup of tea and fiddling with a cigarette before he finally tells her about Death. The entity's interest and involvement in Hadrian’s survival and upbringing, the long talk they had before the start of Hogwarts, and all the information he received that day. The numerous Horcruxes, Hadrian being one, Dumbledore’s involvement and plans, and so on, and so forth.

When he’s finally finished it’s already pitch-dark outside, only the flames from the fire illuminating the small room and he has the pleasure of witnessing the rare occurrence of Cassiopeia looking utterly stumped.

He patiently waits until she processed all of what he just told her, remembering well enough how difficult it was for him all that time ago. He simply watches shadows flicker over the light-grey walls and cramped bookshelves, listens to the wind whistling in the chimney and orders the elf to bring them some firewhiskey, already sick of the tea.

Eventually, she nods slowly, her fingers tapping a rhythm against the glass. “Alright, while it’s a lot to take in, it does make sense. Hadrian’s relation to Death I mean, it explains a lot. I obviously didn’t expect it to be Death himself, but I already thought that there has to be more.”

He knows he has to look surprised and she smirks at him. “Oh, come on, you can’t believe that the story of him discovering all by himself that he’s a wizard and then bullying his relatives into telling him more about it is particularly reasonable, don’t you? Of him independently learning so much or finding out about Quirrell and the Philosopher’s Stone – I could go on, but I think you get the idea.”

“Well…” he says, drawing out the word, but he grins, not bothered to admit that it’s not the best cover they ever came up with. It’s the main reason they decided to tell them in the first place, after all.

“Anyway, I take it that’s not the most important thing about all of this?” she asks, and he nods, sighing softly.

“Yeah, it’s, well… I’m uncertain about the whole plan, I can’t even say for sure that the ritual will work like we want it to, there’s no other documented case of anything like this and there are a lot of uncertainties and guesses involved in the whole thing. But the alternative isn’t better, quite the opposite really.”

She hums before her eyes sharpen. “But if I understand correctly, you planned this for a long time already, even before you met Hadrian in the first place. You might not have had any idea about the number of Horcruxes, but you worked towards the same goal. So why are you doubting all of it now, of all times?”

He winces and shifts in his chair, fixing his eyes on the glowing liquid in his glass. “It’s not like I never questioned if it’s the right course of action, but… It’s just… Sirius visited me today and – “

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” she mutters under her breath and when he looks up he can see how exasperated she is.

“I know, I know,” he says quickly, shaking his head to prevent her from scolding him like a little boy. “I shouldn’t care all that much what he thinks about me but it’s not like he’s wrong about everything. I did join the Death Eaters against my better knowledge, I never really stood up to our parents, and I might very well gamble with Hadrian’s life by doing this if it goes wrong.”

Her eyes soften and she sends the bottle over to him. “You were very young, for one. Then, if you didn’t do as your parents expected you to, you would have needed to run away just like your brother did, and it wouldn’t have gone over as well as it did for him, we both know that. They might have tolerated losing one heir, but if you had left as well, it would have damned you both.”

He presses his lips together and looks away. He knows that it’s true, knew it all those years ago and, while he always loathed Sirius a bit for leaving him there, dismissing him as ‘one of them’ and all that, he also stayed to give at least Sirius the chance to be who he wanted to be. Because he’s an idiot and wanted his brother to be happy, no matter what.

“You won’t hear me contradicting that your choice to join the Dark Lord was stupid, you know my opinion on the matter well enough, but even if you didn’t want to, you didn’t have much of a choice,” Cassiopeia’s voice pulls him out of his bitter thoughts and he gladly takes the chance to leave them behind. “And as I see it, you did a lot to make up for it, more than many people who fought against the Dark Lord actually did. Sirius is an idiot, always has been no matter how much he improved over the last year and he doesn’t have a clue about what you did. Stop beating yourself up over it, you hear me?”

Her tone is stern and doesn’t leave any room for arguments, but her eyes are still soft, and he knows that it’s her way of comforting him – knows that she knows that it works, too.

He smiles softly at her and ducks his head, feeling like he’s 14 again and she nods in approval, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Now, for your actual plan; obviously there’s a certain risk to it but I think you’re right that it’s small, compared to everything else. At least this way, there’s a chance that it turns out well. If you just destroy the Horcruxes and hope for the possibility to defeat him, well… Let’s just say that didn’t work out well for anyone with the same goal the last time around, did it?”

He grimaces; even without having played an active part in the war, he remembers the chaos, destruction, fear and countless deaths better than he wants to.

“If I understood you correctly, Hadrian will be able to get rid of the soul piece without dying when he’s around 19 or 20, right?”

He nods, furrowing his brows slightly and wondering where she’s going with this.

“Alright, so there are a few ways how this can go: your plan works perfectly, and you’ll resurrect the Dark Lord in eight years with all the Horcruxes, making him mortal and most likely sane.”

He makes an affirmative sound around his sip of whiskey and she continues, “Another possibility is that someone gets there quicker than you and you’ll have to intervene, resurrecting him at any time before then with one Horcrux being left, which isn’t as ideal but at least serves as kind of an insurance for Hadrian. I take it Death keeps an eye out for you?”

He nods again and a satisfied smirk plays around her lips and crinkles the corners of her eyes. “Useful, that. Anyway, the worst-case scenario is that he’ll still be mad despite all your efforts, but if you don’t do it as planned that’s what _certainly_ will happen. So, long story short, you can’t make it worse either way.”

He sinks a bit deeper into his chair and stares into the fire. “I know. Rationally, I _know_ that, it’s just…” he trails off, unable to put the vague feeling of dread into words.

“It’s a lot of pressure and you two being in the centre of it is hard on you,” Cassiopeia says and he nods, grateful that she somehow always knows what’s going on in his head. “But you know, if it goes wrong you can still leave. Regardless of what Dumbledore might have planned or Sirius might think, there’s nothing saying that we can’t leave the country and save us the trouble.”

He looks at her, uncertain what he’s supposed to say to that. It feels kind of wrong to just flee, even if he’d do it in a heartbeat if it is what Hadrian wants.

She smiles at him and shrugs. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Regulus. And the most important role you have is to keep Hadrian safe, and if that means not getting involved with an insane Dark Lord, well – there are enough interesting places to spend some years at. Also, not to freak you out but I don’t think he’ll take well to you betraying him if he’s not sane and maybe even grateful, and keeping Hadrian safe also means that you have to keep yourself safe.”

It’s weird, how something that he theoretically knows just sounds so much more calming when somebody he trusts says it out loud, and he can feel the knot in his chest loosen a bit.

He takes another sip of his whiskey, focusing on the burn in his throat and the way it makes his limbs heavy, while the fire adds to the cosy and warm mood that wraps around him. He can feel his tiredness catching up on him, now that his agitation is receding, and he’s slightly amazed at how much it helps to talk about all of this for the first time.

“Thank you,” he finally says, hoping that she can see how much he means it.

“Go home and sleep,” she says, standing up. “And don’t worry so much about Sirius. I know it’s difficult between the two of you and always has been, but you can’t expect him to change everything about himself within a year. He’s getting there, which is more than I ever hoped for.”

He hugs her briefly, mostly out of gratitude but also to hide that he just now realises how much of a point she has with that.

Her knowing expression before he steps into the floo tells him that he wasn’t very successful, but he feels more at peace than he has in weeks, months even, so he doesn’t really mind.

He tried so hard to ignore all the things standing between Sirius and him, and he knows that the others noticed, too, that he couldn’t really appreciate the progress Sirius made. It’s not like he can just forgive him for everything that happened between them, maybe not even the careless words he threw at him earlier today, but he shouldn’t have blown up so quickly either. And maybe he can give him a chance, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Regulus, not gonna lie. Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Also, I posted a one-shot a week ago of Regulus taking the Dark Mark. It's 'canon-compliant' with the Universe this story takes place in and I might add them together into a series. You can check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20823284)
> 
> Also, there are some moodboards, headcanons, short stories... on my tumblr, for this story and other HP stuff, which you can find [here](https://queenofthedagger.tumblr.com)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that I'm already at 30 Chapters, thank you all for your support and feedback!! <3

“Hey, are you alright?” Daphne’s voice startles him and he looks up from the letter he keeps rereading since Thanatos delivered it this morning.

They’re sitting in front of the dark windows in the corner of the common room and it’s only the third day back at school, but right now he wants nothing more than to be home. Regulus wrote him that he told Cassiopeia about Death and their plan for Voldemort and while they talked that through and he doesn’t mind, he just feels like something is off about the whole thing.

It’s not like Regulus to do something like this out of nowhere and, ignoring that he certainly understands that there are many doubts to be had about the whole topic, the two sentences about seeing Sirius earlier that day and them ‘having a discussion,’ only make him more suspicious.

“Har?”

Right, Daphne. “Sorry, I’m just –“ he breaks off, not knowing what exactly he’s supposed to tell her.

“Worried?” she suggests with a smile and he nods, leaning back in the armchair and folding the letter. It’s not like it will suddenly tell him what’s wrong.

“Yeah, I think… I think something happened between Regulus and Sirius and well, it’s not like he generally tells me about their problems, it’s actually the only topic he’s really secretive about but this feels… different?” he says, too troubled to not at least try talking about it.

“What gives you the impression?” she asks with a frown and he sighs, looking away from her. Before he can say anything, she grins. “You can’t tell me because it’s related to some secret?”

He forgot how well she could read him and can’t help but grin back at her. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

She just shrugs and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. But to come back to your problem, maybe just ask him? I mean, he doesn’t have to tell you the details if he doesn’t want to, but maybe he can at least let you know if something happened at all, so that you can stop staring at that letter?”

“Why, are you missing my attention?” he teases but then sobers. “You’re right though, thanks, Daphne.”

He suspects that she only just keeps from rolling her eyes at him, which still doesn’t save him from the punch against his shoulder. “You wish. You can show your gratitude by helping me with that bloody Transfiguration essay, I understood only half of the theory McGonagall talked about, not to mention that I can’t believe she already gave us homework.”

He lifts his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Alright, alright, let me write my letter and I’ll help you.”

She smirks, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Good, - “

Before she can continue, Theo plops down next to them. “Did you say Transfiguration essay? Can I join you?”

“Sure,” Hadrian says, grinning at him. During the train ride back to Hogwarts, Theo was mostly subdued and silent, but he seems to recover slowly, today being the first day he actively took part in their conversation during dinner.

He didn’t say much about how his holidays went, just that he spent a lot of time in the library and his room and that his father mostly ignored him, but it’s rather obvious that it wasn’t great.

He’s pale and looks tired, zoning out from time to time and flinches if any of them move too quickly. The whole situation bothers Hadrian a lot; not only because he feels at least partly responsible, but because it’s his _friend_ and out of all of them, he probably has the best idea how much stress a difficult home life puts on you.

Still, he doesn’t know what to do about it except trying to give Theo some sense of normality. He remembers very well that he disliked talking about the Dursley’s and how much time it took him to actually trust Regulus to do anything about it, and while he’s sure that he could offer Theo a place to stay, he doesn’t want to put any more pressure on him.

Besides, he thinks that Theo will probably speak up if he feels like it, and he might not be the best person to confront him about it. Daphne spent most of the last days with him outside of classes, the two of them joining them only occasionally, which is why he’s looking forward to spending some time with them now, even if it’s only to do homework.

Writing the letter to Regulus helps a lot to put his mind to rest. He’s still worried and dearly hopes that Sirius didn’t do anything stupid – he wouldn’t put it past him, he might have improved a lot and it’s obvious that his ongoing therapy and most likely also Remus do help him a lot to basically catch up on all the development he missed in Azkaban, and he had a lot of fun with both of them during the holidays, but well, Sirius still has a temper and often speaks before he thinks.

He has the impression that _that_ is not a result of his time in Azkaban but an inherent character trait, if Remus exasperation and teasing comments are anything to go by, and it definitely has the potential to lead to some serious fights if the relationship between Regulus and Sirius is as complicated as he suspects it to be.

Still, he feels calmer after he put the letter away to send it to London the next morning, begrudgingly accepting that there isn’t anything he can do about it now, or probably at all. They’ll need to sort their problems out at some point, or at least get it off their chests and then find a way to deal with each other, and he’s aware that he can’t help with that.

He just hopes that they won’t have a complete fallout – there’s no question that he’d always stay with Regulus, but it would complicate things a lot if the two of them can’t get along at all.

* * *

“Quidditch try-outs today!” Blaise greets him with way too much enthusiasm for the time the next morning and he only groans, rubbing his eyes and pushing Atana down from his chest.

“This afternoon, Blaise. No need to already shout about it,” Theo says when he walks out of the bathroom, to which Hadrian nods and gestures as if to say, ‘he got it right.’

He’s not yet used to having to get up this early again and stayed awake way too long last night, reading the latest book Cassiopeia gave him on the history and development of the Dark Arts in India and the inherent magical properties of Sanskrit.  

“What’s up with you, anyway? Since when are you so… cheerful this early?” he mutters when he finally manages to get out of bed, earning himself an eye-roll from Blaise.

“How can I not be cheerful? It’s going to be great fun, seeing Flint’s annoyed face when he has to relent and let you on the team despite his immense dislike for you. It’ll be even better if I make it, too!” Blaise grins, throwing a tie at him.

He smiles a bit because it’s a nice picture, but still shakes his head. “You don’t know if I’ll make the team, so no need for this much noise already.”

“Yeah sure, as if. Oh, by the way, Tracey said last night that Neville wants to come to watch, so we’ll have to wait for him after the last lesson,” Blaise continues while he only nods along, resigning himself to the whole matter. It’s rare that Blaise is this active so early but whenever it happens, there’s no stopping him except leaving the common room.

“I think we have Potions with the Gryffindors in the last period, anyway. Why they keep putting us together, I have no idea. Oh, and I need to talk to Snape for a moment afterwards, can you remind me if he doesn’t?”

When they sit at the breakfast table and he had his first cup of tea, he starts feeling some of the anticipation as well. He’s not as fanatic about Quidditch as Milli and Draco are, and pondered for a while if he should try out at all, seeing that the practices are going to take up a lot of his time.

But he does love flying and it’s not like he has much trouble keeping up with his schoolwork, and additionally, being on the Quidditch team would improve his position within the house, especially among the older years.

It’s not so much that he’d be devastated if he doesn’t make the team, but the general opinion of the students is… conflicted, currently, so now that he decided to try, he wants to make it and is slowly getting a bit nervous.

Outside of Slytherin, many seem to be wary of him. Atana’s prediction that they’d be over learning that he’s a Parselmouth by now didn’t come as true as he would have liked.

Sure, there are many who don’t care all that much or at least don’t bother him about it, in Slytherin it didn’t have any effect at all which is most likely due to them being aware for the better part of last year, but there’s still a surprisingly large number of mostly younger students that now avoid him or look at him with mistrust or fear.

Where towards the end of the last term, many came to him for help during lessons, they now act like he’s simply not there or even actively avoid him. It’s not like it bothers him all that much, the Gryffindors have never been particularly friendly to him, the Slytherins don’t care, some Ravenclaws appear to be more curious than wary and the Hufflepuffs are divided over the whole thing. And he does have better things to do than to explain basic magical theory to students, but still – the few who actively voice their opinion are already grating on his nerves.

Obviously, Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan can’t help but glare at him whenever they see him, accompanied by the occasional remark about how ‘they knew it,’ and then there’s Ernie McMillan and Zacharias Smith who look at him with disdain and wariness and whisper not so subtly behind his back.

No matter how much it annoys him already, he tries to ignore it as best as he can. Everything else would probably only spur them on, and at least Blaise has his fun by making hissing noises whenever they pass one of them in the corridors. He doubts that it’s helpful, but he doesn’t care enough to have the tedious discussion with Blaise about stopping it, either.

What bothers him a bit more is that, even with still being a second year and thus normally being rather unimportant to the older Slytherins, some obviously developed some stronger opinions about his general presence.

He doesn’t really get it, seeing that most adults of the darker families – which is where those few students come from, of course – were rather cautious with voicing any dislike of his person during the ball at Black Manor, but then, children probably tend to have different priorities.

It’s not many of them, but there’s Miles Bletchley and Graham Montague, the two boys that tried to attack him last year and who are now in 4th year, Markus Flint who’s a 5th year, and Adrian Pucey and Lucian Bole.

Bletchley and Montague probably have a personal motive, but he has no idea what Flint’s and his friends' problem is and the fact that Flint is Quidditch Captain this year should make the whole thing a bit more interesting. He’s not directly worried, but he knows that he should probably watch his back. Maybe less so if he makes the team because he doubts that they would attack their teammates. Then again, you never know with Slytherins.

“Come on, we have our first Defence class,” Draco’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and, looking up, he realises that he spent most of the breakfast lost in his own thoughts.

“Oh joy, let’s see what Lockhart has in store for us,” he says with a sigh, anything but keen on the coming lesson.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be brilliant!” Pansy Parkinson speaks up from behind him and he raises a doubtful brow at her but doesn’t say anything.

He read the books Lockhart assigned them and he’s already hating the man for wasting his time like that. He’s pretty sure that his lessons won’t come with a sudden surprise of competence. There are just too many things that don’t add up in his stories.

Entering the classroom, he stops for a second at the sight of most of the girls taking up the first two rows, nearly all from Gryffindor together with Pansy and Tracey, which in itself is already a weird picture.

Then he remembers the reaction from half of the female population of Hogwarts when Dumbledore introduced Lockhart at the Welcoming Feast and snorts, pulling at Blaise’s and Draco’s sleeve to get them seats in the back row. Maybe this will be entertaining if nothing else.

It’s already five minutes past the official start, when Lockhart enters the classroom with a dramatic flourish of his robes, tossing his hair and smiling a bit too brightly. He can hear Draco groan next to him and shares an exasperated glance with him and Blaise.

He tunes Lockhart’s voice out as soon as he hears the words “Winner of the Charming Smile Awards,” and is then rather surprised when he gets handed a test – for all of 10 seconds until he sees the questions.

The problem is, having read the books, he actually does know most of the answers. Really, sometimes having a perfect memory is not what it’s made out to be. He refuses to appear like he actually cares about Lockhart though, and only answers those that at least have something to do with how his numerous feats are described. Maybe he should ask Death about the possibility to erase certain memories.

Lockhart talks a lot more and then releases a cage of agitated Cornish Pixies into the classroom, fleeing soon after which is basically the last proof he needed that the man is a total, utter, incompetent idiot.

The Pixies are wrecking the classroom, the students are screaming and stumbling over themselves and he only just casts a shield in time to prevent Neville from being hung from the chandelier. Honestly, doesn’t this count as endangering students or something?! How in Salazar’s name did Lockhart get hired?

He ponders for a moment if he should immobilise the Pixies and put them back into the cage but then decides that it’s really not his job and also not worth revealing that he can. Instead, he keeps up a shield around him and his friends and they leave the classroom with everyone else, ignoring Lockhart’s last order to ‘take care of the problem.’

They’re all more than annoyed but of course, Draco complains the loudest and Hadrian wonders if his father hearing about this and that and everything actually ever has any effect or if it’s just a nice catchphrase Draco somehow got stuck on. Not that he’d mind getting rid of Lockhart, but he doubts that it’ll be that easy.

Charms and Potions pass quietly in comparison and he thinks to himself that he’d take a whole day of Snape over another Defence lesson any day.

“Can you take my broom from our dorm, then I can come down to the Quidditch pitch directly?” he asks Blaise when the last lesson is over and stays behind when Blaise agrees.

He waits until everyone else has left before approaching the desk where Snape is sitting, critically checking the various Burn Healing Potions they brewed today. From this close, Snape looks even more tired, dark circles under his eyes and paler than usual, which is saying something.

Once again he feels a spark of guilt for being at least kind of responsible for the stress Snape has to be under – if Dumbledore is convinced that Voldemort will return soon, or that he already has, he’s probably not only keeping a close eye on Snape but expecting all kinds of annoying things.

Come to think of it, he didn’t see him once over the whole summer, which usually is the time he used to visit Grimmauld Place the most.

“Mr. Potter-Black, how can I help you?” Well, at least he still sounds as condescending as he ever did.

He has to suppress a smile at the thought and the realisation that he actually missed this, knowing that it wouldn’t be received well. “Sir, I was wondering if we were going to continue our lessons from last year?” He hesitates a moment, not for the first time wondering if he should suggest quitting them – it wouldn’t do him any good to make Snape suspicious in any way.

“If it is too time-consuming for you, I’d understand, of course,” he says anyway. It’s not like that could lead him to believe that he has an idea of what’s going on, and if it should, he can always argue that Sirius and Remus told him about Dumbledore’s attempts to reinstate the Order of the Phoenix.

Snape watches him closely for a few uncomfortable seconds, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. “Do you wish to continue?”

“Yes, Sir. I learned a lot over the last year and had a few ideas over the summer that I wrote down,” he answers truthfully. While he might not have the same enthusiasm for Potions as for duelling or Transfiguration, he does enjoy it and appreciates the chance of being tutored by one of the most successful Potion Masters in existence.

Besides, seeing that he has absolutely no talent for Healing and there’s no guarantee that it will be any different with Necromancy, he will have to rely on potions for that, so he’d be stupid to pass up on any opportunity to learn more.

“Very well, then we shall do so. I’m not sure yet if I’ll be able to continue with our weekly schedule, but every two weeks should be no problem,” Snape nods, and he at least likes to think that he saw a fleeting smile pass his stoic expression.

He bows his head a bit and says, “Thanks Professor, I really appreciate it. And whatever works for you is fine, of course.”

Snape just nods and writes something down on a piece of parchment. “Here, that’s the time for our first meeting. Don’t be late.”

He smiles at the warning – he can’t remember ever being late to class or their lessons, but if he had to teach a bunch of children, he’d probably make it a habit to remind them of that, too.

He’s nearly at the door when Snape speaks up again. “Good Luck at the try-outs.”

He turns around and can’t be bothered to hide his smile, this time. “Thanks, Sir, I’ll give my best.”

He’s still smiling when leaving the classroom and Neville is shaking his head as soon as he sees him. “How you can walk out there smiling, I’ll never understand.”

He laughs, bumping his shoulder into Neville’s. “Thanks for waiting for me. So, you’re going to watch?”

Neville shrugs and he’s once again amazed at the difference in his posture and attitude compared to the beginning of first year. It’s not that he appears overly confident, in fact, he’s still quiet and timid more often than not, but at least when it’s only them or the other Slytherins, he seems… at ease.

“I want to, at least. Let’s see what the team has to say about it,” Neville says.

He nods, grimacing at the reminder of Marcus Flint. “Well, I don’t think they want to see me either, so it’s not like it matters.”

Neville just shakes his head and they walk in silence until they’re out of the castle. The afternoon sun is still standing high on the sky and only a few clouds are scattered amongst it, and he takes deep breaths of fresh air, glad to be out of the stuffy classrooms for now.

“Oh, did you get a new wand, by the way?” he asks, and Neville’s whole face lights up.

“Yes, it’s great! I mean, yesterday in Transfiguration I nearly blew up my desk because I’m not used to… having to put less effort into it but…” he blushes a bit but is still smiling proudly.

Hadrian grins. “Well, you’ll get used to it. Didn’t you practice some spells over the holidays? Oh, and if you’re fine to share, what kind of wand is it?”

“No, my grandmother is strict about the ban on underage magic out of school. I mean, it would be fine with the wards we have but…” he looks uncomfortable, avoiding his eyes before taking a breath and continuing, “She doesn’t trust me to not destroy half the Manor, I think, which is probably justified.”

He rolls his eyes, once again feeling annoyed at the way Neville’s grandmother treats him. Honestly, there’d be much fewer disasters happening around Neville if he simply had more self-confidence. Which he only lacks in the first place because half of his family apparently thinks that telling a child they’re a squib is a good idea.

But he also knows that addressing that issue only serves to make Neville uncomfortable, so he keeps his thoughts to himself.

“Oh, and it’s Cherry Wood and Unicorn hair. Ollivander said it’s very different from the one my father had, so it’s not that much of a surprise that it never really worked for me…”

He doesn’t look very happy about it and Hadrian bumps their shoulders again. “You’re not dishonouring your father just because you’re different. You don’t think I’m dishonouring my parents because I’m not in Gryffindor for example, right?” he says, smiling softly.

Neville looks startled and quickly shakes his head, but then realisation dawns on his face and he shoves him a bit. “Stop trying to manipulate me,” he says, but he’s grinning which is all he wanted to achieve.

By now they arrived at the Quidditch pitch and he says goodbye to Neville, making his way over to the changing rooms where Blaise, Milli, and Draco are waiting with his broom and protective gear. There’s a whole bulk of other people, probably 15 – 20, and most of them are at least 3rd years.

Except for the Captain, every player from last year's team has to defend his or her position and on top of that, a Chaser and a Beater graduated. Higgs, who played Seeker the last few years, sneers at him but he ignores it.

It’s no secret that he and Draco are both aiming for Seeker, but despite the position he clawed himself into last year, the older Slytherins still merely tolerate him. It’s a bit of a mystery to him, seeing that the Blacks very publicly stated their support of him, and he’s reminded of Tom’s words from weeks ago. ‘Of course, they came to regret their behaviour towards me eventually.’

He shakes his head and tries to focus on Blaise telling him about the organisation of the try-outs. He still didn’t open the diary again after his conversation with Death after the last time, and it’s currently sitting at the bottom of his trunk between the pages of Death’s books. He did eye it a few times, but as soon as he felt the itch to open it, he gritted his teeth and ignored it.

By now, it’s not only Death’s warning but the reoccurring desire to talk to Tom that makes him even warier. He wondered if the diary might affect him somewhat, after all, but if he trusts one thing in this world, it’s Death. That means that it’s only down to him though, which is more than enough to avoid the bloody thing as much as he can.

“… and then the Chasers – hey, are you listening?” Blaise hits him against the shoulder and he only just refrains from cursing himself for losing attention despite his best efforts.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, what did you say?” he rushes out while fastening his shin protection.

Blaise rolls his eyes but says, “Flint said because we’re so many, we’re going to race first so that one for each position is already out. Then we’re left with two who want the Keeper position, five for Chaser plus Flint himself, three for Beater and three for Seeker.”

“Wow that’s still a lot,” he interrupts but quickly shuts up again at the glare he receives from Blaise, while Draco and Milli look like they’re trying their best not to laugh.

“Yes, genius. We’re going to have a game without Seekers then, one Keeper per team, three Chasers, and the three Beaters just hit on everyone. When we’re finished – well, I don’t actually know what he has planned for you, but there he comes so I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

He hums, hating to admit that Flint’s system does make sense. Sure, it has to, Snape wouldn’t give him the position as Captain for nothing, but he doesn’t have to like it.

Flint takes a moment just to glare at him and he struggles to keep his expression blank, but thankfully, Flint averts his eyes and gives a summary of what Blaise just told him.

Soon enough, the whole group takes off, and after a lot of jostling and hitting elbows into each other, he manages to swerve out of the knot of people and fly above them, free now to put on some speed.

It won’t help him much that his broom is the newest on the market, most of the Slytherins trying out have the best brooms available, but he knows that he’s a good flyer and ignores everyone else, just concentrating on gaining speed and not cutting any edges. He just knows that Flint will take any chance to kick him out before he can even start.

They have to do five laps, and when he finishes the third one, he already overtook two others again. Apart from Blaise and Milli who try out as Chasers, and Draco of course, he has no idea who wants which position. Higgs is probably aiming for Seeker again and there’s one more person going for the same position.

It doesn’t take long to finish his laps and he’s one of the first to land next to Flint, who scowls but otherwise ignores him. Merlin, but he hopes the idiot will get over his pointless grudge if he makes the team.

Blaise, Draco, and Milli aren’t far behind and they grin at each other, but it’s obvious that Draco is tense, and his smile isn’t completely honest. He sighs, sharing a look with Blaise but decides to not say anything about it – he knew from the moment that he found out that both of them are trying for the same position that Draco’s pride might cause them some trouble.

He’s distracted by Neville waving at them from the stands, and before he can think further on it, Flint’s booming voice catches his attention. “Alright, Rosier, Rowle, Perrot, and Leroy are out, thanks for trying, maybe next time. The rest of you, take your positions for the game. We play 30 minutes and I’ll decide based on goals scored, held and what I observe. Off with you!”

He and Draco walk over to Neville, ignoring Higgs who stays where he is, and they watch the already fast-paced game. Both Milli and Blaise are playing well, each scoring a few goals within the first ten minutes. They’re on opposing teams and there’s no visible difference between them and the older players, except for Flint, maybe, whose experience especially with Pucey shows.

The two of them play with Blaise and quickly take the lead, helped by the fact that Brown, the keeper of Milli’s team, appears to startle every time the Quaffle is aimed at him. All three of the Beaters are doing well, but then that’s the position Hadrian has the least knowledge about.

All in all, it’s exciting to watch and apart from “Wow, did you see that?!” – “Oh Merlin…” – “That was close!” there’s not much talking happening between the three of them.

When they all touch down, he and Draco hurry onto the pitch to not miss who will make the team.

“I don’t know how he decides, honestly. I mean it’s not hard with the Keepers, but besides him and Pucey, Milli, Blaise, and Tremblay were all brilliant, and all three of the Beaters were great!” Draco rambles, all sense of rivalry obviously forgotten for the moment.

While he did see some differences, he keeps it to himself, doubting that now is the right time, instead just nodding along. It’s not like Draco is waiting for an answer, anyway.

He nods and grins at both Blaise and Milli – out of all of them, they showed the most potential in his opinion, but he’s aware that he’s biased.

“Alright, well done. Bole and Derrick are going to be Beaters, Bletchley is the Keeper, Pucey and Zabini, you’re the Chasers,” Flint proclaims without much fanfare, causing the addressed students to cheer and clap each other on the shoulders.

He briefly slings an arm around Blaise’s shoulders but can’t help his frown. Milli did score more goals than Pucey and while she might not have been as in sync with the two others, it was obvious that she has the necessary skill and potential.

A quick look in her direction shows that she’s scowling and marching up to Flint, but he can’t hear what they’re talking about and it doesn’t take much time before she’s storming off the pitch. Neville intercepts her and he sighs, knowing that there isn’t anything he can do about it right now.

“Alright, Seekers! I’m going to release five Snitches, and the two of you that catch most of them will have a one-on-one match afterwards. Go!” Flint shouts, and he’s off before he even processed all of what he said.

He can see a few shimmers of gold flitting off and flies up high, starting to circle the pitch. It doesn’t take long to spot the first golden flicker at the base of the goal stands and he dives, not sparing a second glance for the other two. He has to weave through the posts and then the stands, but eventually closes his hand around the little ball and quickly drops it into the pocket of his robes, instantly refocusing on circling and watching.

He can see Draco doing the same at the other end, while Higgs is flying zig-zag over the pitch. For ten minutes, none of them seem to spot anything, but then he notices Draco drifting in his direction and, with a look behind him, sees a Snitch hover a few feet behind and above him.

The catch is easy enough, and he grins a bit to himself. Draco catches one, while Higgs appears to become more stressed and erratic, and it takes another fifteen minutes until Draco catches another one.

He winces a bit – it’s now inevitable that the final round will go down between the two of them. He would have preferred to have Higgs beating Draco or him if he’s honest. Now, Draco will either sulk or boast, and both will be equally annoying.

But there’s nothing for it, and both of them only half-heartedly race Higgs when he goes after the last Snitch.

Flint’s expression is tense and he’s openly sneering at Higgs when they touch down, but he doesn’t give them much time to catch their breath.

“Alright, it’s going to be one of you two. Up with you, wait five minutes, and then we’ll see who’s going to make it,” he bellows, and Hadrian rolls his eyes as soon as he’s out of sight.

They both return to circling the pitch on opposite sides, and he carefully lets his gaze sweep over the stands, the grounds, and the bordering land.

After about ten minutes, Draco dives, but a quick scan leads him to the conclusion that it’s a deception. He grins to himself, keeping to his rounds, when he sees a golden shimmer out of the corner of his eye.

It’s closer to Draco, who just pulled out of his dive, but he obviously hasn’t spotted it yet. Keeping his eyes on the snitch, he slowly drifts closer, narrowing his circles and slowly losing height.

When he’s close enough to have a realistic chance to outfly Draco even if he spots it, he puts on a burst of speed, bending over his broom and rushing forward.

It only takes seconds for Draco to notice him and he whirls around, already putting on speed. He loses some ground by tipping too far sideways, giving Hadrian the chance to close the remaining distance between them and soon they’re shoulder to shoulder.

The snitch is flying erratically in front of them, over the stands and close to the group of students that are still watching, but they’re gaining ground quickly.

A quick side-way glance shows him Draco’s tense expression, the way he nearly looks anxious, and when he refocuses on the snitch in front of him, he wonders for the fraction of a second if he should let him win.

He disregards the thought instantly – as much as he values their friendship by now, he’s too ambitious and proud to let this slip through his fingers just because Draco can be incredibly immature.

It’s still not set who will win, of course, but if it’s him, Draco will get over it sooner or later, and if he doesn’t, well. Then he doesn’t.

The Snitch takes a sharp turn to Draco’s side and he just thinks that he might lose, after all, when it changes course again and flies to the right, directly into his path. He throws himself forward to get the last amount of speed out of his broom that he can manage, and stretches out his arm, feels his fingers close around the little bastard of a ball and instantly pulls up, doing a barrel roll and whooping before landing quickly. No need to aggravate Flint and Draco more than strictly necessary.

Blaise is instantly next to him, grinning brightly and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “I knew you would make it,” he laughs, ruffling his hair in a gesture he definitely picked of from Regulus.

He just laughs in response but gathers himself when Flint pointedly clears his throat.

“Not bad, Potter. Welcome to the team,” he says, and the reluctance in his voice is so obvious that Hadrian barely covers his snort. “Training is Monday, Wednesday and Thursday evening, don’t be late, no excuses, and if you disappoint me, I throw you out. That applies to both of you, understood?!”

Both he and Blaise nod simultaneously before they turn around. Draco is standing behind them, arms crossed over his chest and his broom lying next to him on the ground.

“Congratulations,” he says, and it sounds so condescending that he’s taken aback for a moment. Sure, he did expect him to sulk a bit, but right now he looks like he takes the whole thing way too personal.

“Draco, listen – “ he says carefully, but Draco only raises an eyebrow and sneers.

“No thanks, no need for consolation. After all, you have it all, don’t you?! Perfect grades, perfect home life, the perfect best friend,” he scoffs at Blaise who, to his credit, only looks amused and like he’s close to laughing.

Hadrian is not that far off either if he’s honest, because the whole situation is becoming more and more ridiculous by the minute.

“Honestly Draco, what are you saying, that you’re not spoiled beyond belief? I’m sorry that you didn’t make the team, but come on, it’s not like it’s my fault or that this has to compromise our friendship,” he says and well, it might not be the best thing to say at the moment but considering what Draco just said he thinks it’s still rather fair.

“Oh, how gracious! You know what though, you’re right! I’m just as good as you are and at least I’m not just a Half-blood who’s barely accepted by his own house!”

Before he can react, Blaise has his wand in his hand and takes a step forward, all humour gone from his expression. “You want to say that again?!”

Draco takes a step back, but anger is prominent on his face, expression tight and his cheeks flushed. “Of course you would, you two are so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence and Hadrian finally shakes himself out of his shock. He doesn’t think that he has ever seen Blaise angry and he’s kind of touched, but this is getting out of control. He puts his hand on Blaise’s arm but keeps his eyes on Draco.

“Alright, I get that you’re disappointed and, obviously, angry, but you should maybe think about what you’re saying and calm down before you go on. I’m going back to the castle now.” With that, he turns around, pulling Blaise with him and ignoring the stares of the students that are still lingering, wondering if Quidditch is really worth all the trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> I'm going to try and keep updating once a week at the weekends, but the semester starts this week so I can't promise to always make it on time.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks! <3

Albus paces in his office, hands clasped behind his back. The last few months are slowly taking their toll on him; he can feel the tiredness and exhaustion in his bones and the constant worry makes it difficult to keep thinking in a straight line.

A sharp knock on the door startles him until he remembers that he should have expected it and he shakes his head at himself.

“Come in,” he calls, walking over to his desk and sitting down, smiling at Severus who only nods in acknowledgement and takes the chair in front of him.

“Any news?” he asks hopefully, only to be disappointed when Severus shakes his head.

“No, the mark is still faint, there are no whispers whatsoever amongst the usual crowd and neither from the students,” Severus says, and he sounds as tired as Albus feels. “Are you sure that the disappearance of the stone is connected to the Dark Lord? It seems unlike him to stay silent for so long if he should have managed to steal it.”

Albus sighs and stares out of the window for a few seconds. “I can see your point, but every other theory I have makes even less sense,” he says eventually, running a hand through his beard.

“Well, there’s of course still the possibility that those that remain loyal to him simply don’t want to speak to me about it, you know that many of them consider me a traitor due to my closeness to you,” Severus says, and it’s not the first time that they have this conversation.

It’s a legitimate concern, after all, but he also knows that Severus is more observant than anybody else and he thinks that if there were clear signs of Tom’s return, it wouldn’t be necessary for anyone to say it out loud, there would be some palpable anticipation.

“Very true my boy, but there’s always the possibility that only one or two people know about it right now and he’s biding his time. We don’t know which state he is in, or if he needs to gather his own strength before making a move. So, I have to ask you to keep your eyes and ears open, every small detail might help us,” he muses, repeating what he said many times to many people, over the last few months.

Severus’ expression tightens ever so slightly but he nods.

“Also, I still suspect that there might be a possible connection to the return of the Blacks to Britain. Anything new on that front?” he asks when it becomes obvious that Severus isn’t inclined to say anything else.

Severus sighs. “No, Albus. As I already told you, there wasn’t a chance for me to visit over the summer holidays as they were all busy with reconciling. But as much as it pains me to admit this, I know that Sirius Black and Lupin did spend some time with them and I doubt that they’d do that, much less let Potter stay with them, if there was a sign that there might be anything dubious going on.”

He hesitates for a moment before he continues, “Are you _sure_ we shouldn’t look into other possibilities? I mean, none of them might be as bad as the Dark Lord returning, but the stone still has a lot of dangerous potential in the wrong hands.”

Albus waves a hand and shakes his head. “The Aurors are investigating all possible leads but ignoring the most dangerous of them all, so that’s what we’re focusing on. And while you’re reasoning about the Blacks does make sense, I doubt that they’d let Remus and Sirius know about any questionable intentions. Not to mention that I do worry about the two of them, ever since Sirius was freed, they’re very distant.”

Severus pins him with that particular look of him that makes most people feel stupid but only ever serves to make him smile, and says, “Albus, no matter if you did it on purpose or not, you’re partly responsible that Black went to Azkaban in the first place. What did you expect? But that’s still a far cry from accusing them of suddenly siding with the people they fought for years.”

He hums non-committedly, unwilling to voice his thoughts on the matter. He knows that Severus has a point, but he expected that Sirius would have at least tried to gain custody of Harry by now. For many years he did everything to separate himself from his family, it’s worrying to downright suspicious that he lets the boy remain within their influence.

“No matter, it’s important that we keep a close eye on all of them. Did you notice anything strange or different about Harry since the beginning of the term?”

Severus sighs and shakes his head, looking as exasperated as he always does when the boy comes up. “No Albus, he’s as obnoxious as ever.”

He smiles genially, wondering if there will ever be a time when Severus manages to let go of school-boy grudges.

“Very well. Then I can only ask you to keep to your observations and let me know if anything appears to be out of the ordinary to you. I heard that Arcturus Black is rekindling his contacts within the Ministry and I have Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dedalus Diggle keep an eye on him. Maybe you can meet Regulus Black soon?” It’s not really a request and they both know it.

Severus bows his head but says, “I’ll try my best, Albus, but with the starting of school I do have to see what my time allows me to do. I’m in a regular exchange with Lucius and some others, but my day only has 24 hours.”

“Of course, of course, I’m just saying – “

“I know Albus,” Severus says, getting up and walking towards the door. Before he leaves the room, he turns around once again and says, “Let me know if you hear something. It might help me get into contact with the right people.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaving in a swish of his robes and leaving Albus alone with his thoughts again.

No matter from which angle he looks at it, it doesn’t make much sense. Granted, there are many people who would go to some length to get the Philosopher’s Stone, but only very few knew about it being at Hogwarts last year.

He doubts that Quirrell would have worked with just anyone, and he’s convinced that his death must be connected to the whole thing. The disregard and gruesomeness of his death basically have Tom written all over it.

He just doesn’t know how he managed to do it. Of course, the obstacles were designed to be easy, but the Mirror was his fail-safe. He was convinced that Tom wouldn’t be able to figure out how to get to the stone, much less accomplish it in his weakened state.

Not to mention that he’s rather disappointed in the lack of interest Harry showed in the whole matter. As far as he knows, the boy is mostly focused on his school-work and spending time with his friends which, to be fair, is rather normal behaviour for a child that age, but he had hoped that he’d be more curious in the things happening around him.

Their meeting in front of the Mirror of Erised comes to his mind; he was rather satisfied to learn that he’s obviously still missing his parents and that he has a strong connection to Sirius and Remus, but his disregard for Albus’ warnings about the other Blacks and Slytherins, as well as the remark about Hagrid, are still a cause for concern.

He’s not sure if it was meant as a threat, and Harry’s defence of his friends and the Blacks is probably due to the desire for family and acceptance, but he originally hoped that he’d desire those things from other, _better_ -suited sources.

It’s important that he has something to defend, something worth fighting for, and while it doesn’t matter all that much who that is in the end, he’s an impressionable young child and Albus is scared that he’ll be influenced to stay out of any conflict or worse, be swayed to the wrong side.

Adding to that the very real chance that Tom will be back soon, he had more than one sleepless night over the last months. He might be manipulative and, in the eyes of some maybe even ruthless, but he has seen what war does to their community more than once, and he wants to prevent that at all costs.

He never found any satisfaction or joy in having to sacrifice people for peace and even the thought of only Harry having to die pains him – if he fails at preventing another war, the number of victims will only rise and he dreads to think about it.

He knows that he’s not without fault and that he didn’t manage to change as much about the wizarding world as he wanted to, but he’s scared to think about what is going to happen if he loses even more influence. The loss of his position in the Wizengamot was a harsh blow and the following damage to his reputation already lost him some valuable allies.

He doesn’t know how the odds would stand if the war picks up again right now, and his thoughts and feelings on the whole matter waver between anger, disappointment, blaming himself for being so careless and dread for what is to come.

* * *

Sirius is racing over empty streets, the wind pulling harshly at his hair and making his eyes water. Fields and forests are rushing by and his hands are so cold he’s not sure that he still feels them, but he barely registers any of it.

He’s caught between the joy of finally having his bike back and a strange mixture of resentment, guilt, and sadness that doesn’t let go of him since his fight with Regulus a week ago.

When he left Grimmauld Place, he was convinced that he’s been in the right, but it didn’t take long for the first doubts to form and the last walls he built around the feelings regarding his brother to crumble.

Regulus has always been a difficult topic for him, ever since they both started school, and even during nearly one year of therapy he did his best to avoid the whole matter. But he learned that lying to himself doesn’t get him anywhere and so he decided that it might be time to tackle the issue.

His resolve doesn’t make it easier though. He spent years upon years ignoring every doubt and sliver of guilt and confronting it all is like a bludger to his chest. Or several.

He’d only admit to himself how difficult this is because he knows that a lot of it is his fault and he’s not looking for pity; most of the things Regulus accused him of are true, and no matter how much he defended himself, he’s acutely aware of that.

He knows that he disregarded Regulus as soon as he had James; that he judged him for being different than him, ignored that Regulus tried to be there for him in his own way. That his accusations were unfair and unfounded and that he spouted them mostly out of habit because he did it so often that it felt safe in some twisted way, because he’s still not completely at ease with how everything changed so much while he’s still stuck in the past, somehow.

He sighs and the sound is ripped away from his lips as soon as it leaves them. It won’t get him anywhere to brood over all this, to admit only to himself that he _knows_ all these things, so in a spur-of-a-moment decision, he pulls his bike around and makes his way back to London.

It doesn’t take him long to reach Grimmauld Place and he knocks on the door before the doubts trying to take a hold of him can make him turn around and leave.

Regulus opens the door, looking confused – it has probably been a long time since anyone arrived this way. The confusion quickly melts away and is replaced by the blank mask Sirius hates so much, but he can see the muscle twitching in his jaw and the slight narrowing of Regulus’ eyes.

“Hey,” he says, attempting a smile but feeling that it comes out rather weak. “Can I come in?”

Regulus hesitates, making Sirius’ chest clench and panic rise in his mind that he might have fucked things up so badly that there’s no going back. Before he can rush out apologies, Regulus sighs and nods, stepping to the side to let him in.

They don’t talk while they make their way down into the kitchen and the silence hangs heavy between them, increasing his nervousness. He takes a few measured breaths to calm himself down, knowing that now is _not_ the time to be rash or to speak before he thinks.

“Coffee?” Regulus asks when they sit down, his voice as flat as his expression and Sirius clenches his fingers in his lap, nodding without really thinking about it. He lets his eyes wander over the clean counters, the white curtains, and light-brown cupboards, marvelling at how bright the kitchen is, especially compared to their childhood. He didn’t think it was possible to make this room _comfortable_.

When they both have a steaming mug in front of them, he gathers himself, refusing to let his nerves get the better of him and takes another deep breath before he says, “I want to apologise.”

Regulus eyes widen slightly and the realisation that this might be the first time he said that in over a decade hurts him more than he cares to admit.

He ignores the needling self-loathing, knowing that he probably deserves it and continues, “Not only for our fight a few days ago, but let’s start there. I shouldn’t have accused you of any of the things I said; not of being worried that helping out Remus could damage your reputation, not of your loyalty to Voldemort and least of all of doing anything that might put Har into danger.”

Regulus doesn’t react, his hands wrapped around his mug and his head tilted slightly, showing that he’s listening.

Sirius bites his lip and closes his eyes for a moment. Merlin, but he didn’t think this would be so bloody hard. “It’s… difficult for me, to change and adjust all those beliefs and things I held onto during the war and also… through my time in Azkaban. I’m working on it but it’s, well it sounds stupid, but it’s easy to fall back into familiar habits.”

He smiles ruefully but shakes his head. “I know it’s not an excuse to take it out on you and that’s probably the point to address what you said to me.”

He sighs and a quick look at Regulus shows him that his expression softened a little. It’s enough to make him go on. “You were right, with – well, probably everything you said. I would be lying if I told you that I regret leaving this house behind, or that I didn’t think that I did the right thing but… It was unfair to ask you to come with me, for starters.”

Regulus raises a brow and he shrugs. “I mean, I did it because I really was worried about you and, it might not make it better, but I always felt guilty for the distance between us, even more so for leaving you behind but…”

He takes a sip of his coffee to stall because this is probably the hardest part of it all for him. Regulus is still silent, only watching him and he can’t detect more than vague curiosity in his expression. There’s a fleeting thought that he could once read Regulus like an open book but he shoves it away, refusing to lose his focus.

“I never thought about the fact that they only let me leave because you stayed,” he says quietly, avoiding Regulus’ eyes. “I should have because it’s obvious but… I never did and I’m sorry. Also, you did… did have a point when you said that I loved you conditionally I – “

He chokes a bit on his words and closes his eyes again, breathing deeply against the burning in his throat and the pressure behind his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I just… was an arsehole, I suppose. But I want you to know that I did love you, _do_ – I just, I…”

He feels tears burning in his eyes and rubs at them with his sleeve, annoyed that he can’t even apologise appropriately. He doesn’t want to give Regulus the impression that he’s aiming for sympathy.

“I pushed it away, tried to ignore it because, as you probably know better than anyone else, my thinking was very black and white, and I thought the fact that you didn’t want to leave all of this behind was proof enough that you stood against me, or at least weren’t against _them_ enough to support me and – “

“Sirius – “

“No wait, I’m on a roll,” he rushes out, laughing wetly and shaking his head. “You’re right, I was a self-righteous prick and still am, at least sometimes. I speak before I think and say things I don’t even mean but it’s… everything changed, everything I believed in is at least questionable if not plain wrong and it cost me so many things. The death of James and Lily still, it still… it feels like every time I think about it, them, something short-circuits in my head and I lose all sense of reason and that in no way justifies what I accused you of, so I’m sorry, I really am I’m – “

He chokes on a sob and shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut for a second before looking at Regulus. “Merlin, I’m not doing this to guilt-trip you or anything, I don’t even expect you to just forgive me. I just want you to know that I don’t think you’re a coward or that you don’t matter to me. I mean, I can’t say I never thought you to be soft but not anymore, you did so much to grow up and you took care of Har and…”

He exhales in a rush, unable to get any more words out but still feeling like it’s not enough. He wants nothing more than to make things right between them, but he knows it’s impossible, that too much happened and that for most of it, he can only blame himself, that he just has to learn to somehow live with the regrets.

“Am I allowed to say something now?” Regulus asks, his voice softer than he expected and when he looks up there’s a smile tugging on his lips.

He grins shakily and nods, more relieved than he expected that Regulus is not just kicking him out again.

“Thank you for apologising,” Regulus says, the way he looks at him so intense that he actually believes him. “And I’m not saying this just for the sake of it, it really does mean more to me than I can explain.”

He smiles, more astounded than he probably should be and already glad that he didn’t chicken out of doing this.

Regulus sighs and stares into his mug, his fingers drawing circles into the dark, worn wood of the table. “Also, it’s not like you’re the only one who did wrong, or like everything you accused me of is unjustified.”

He opens his mouth to protest but Regulus pins him with a look and shakes his head. “Please, let me finish and don’t dismiss what I’m saying. As much as I meant most of what I said to you last week, I _did_ support Voldemort for some time. I changed, it’s true, but that doesn’t change the fact that I willfully ignored what was going on right in front of me.”

He takes a sip of his coffee and visibly steels himself before continuing, “You also never asked me to take your place, or demanded that I stay here, I chose to do it. While I might not have had the chance to leave as easily as you did, if I really wanted to, I might have found a way. Which leads me to my last point, which might be the most important of it.”

Sirius swallows, watching as Regulus leans forward and crosses his arms on the table. He has no idea when they last had a conversation like this, so honest and serious and terribly open, and it’s overwhelming and brilliant in equal measures.

“I understand the trouble you’re going through, this feeling that you made all the wrong choices, and while I didn’t spend years in Azkaban, I did lose people who were dear to me. But there’s a difference, Sirius. You weren’t on the wrong side of the war, you might have been misinformed and made your choices for not all the right reasons, but fighting against the Dark Lord in those years wasn’t wrong, okay? Not everything you believed in was wrong and what you did, what you went through wasn’t for naught.”

Regulus leans back in his chair and sighs, running a hand through his hair before he smiles slightly. Sirius stays silent, his mind reeling and he’s once again fighting against the tears that are trying to overwhelm him.

It’s not like it’s the first time he hears this, in fact, he and Remus talk about this topic often, but hearing it from Regulus is… not more meaningful, but important in a different way. Coming from someone he just left behind, from someone he wronged in so many ways, it’s somehow easier to believe.

“To come to my point, more or less,” Regulus says after the silence stretched for some time, much less uncomfortable than at the beginning of this conversation, “I can’t tell you that it’s simply alright, that everything is forgiven and forgotten – I think we both can’t do this. But I shouldn’t have blown up as I did, and I can see that you’ve come a long way. Maybe this fight was necessary for us to get all those things out in the open, to show us both that ignoring everything that happened won’t work.”

Sirius nods, slowly. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Thanks for… Well, for saying the things you did.”

Regulus grins at him, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and, after taking one, slides it over the table.

“Oh Merlin, I need that now,” he mutters, more to himself and startles slightly when Regulus laughs, in that carefree manner that he hasn’t heard in a long time.

“Yeah, I feel you. Bloody things, I don’t think I could stop if I wanted to,” he says with a roll of his eyes, but then sobers again and, after some hesitation, says, “What I meant to say is, while we can’t just forget everything, we can maybe, I don’t know… Start over isn’t the right term, but it’s close. I don’t think there will ever come a time where we don’t fight occasionally because we’re just too different, but…”

Relief and joy and many more things he can’t find a name for spread through him because this is much more than he hoped for, much more than he has any right to expect and he smiles. “I’d really, really like that. You’re probably going to have to call me out on my bullshit and I promise I will try to keep it to a minimum but… you’re my brother, the only good thing that I ever had in this house even when I was utter shit at showing it. But I never stopped – “

He swallows, somehow the words are still getting stuck in his throat, but Regulus looks like he understands, like he just _knows_ , and maybe that’s enough for now.

“Yeah, me too,” Regulus says and it’s like a huge weight lifts itself off of Sirius’ chest.

* * *

“Damn it,” Cassiopeia mutters to herself, not above swearing at the lack of progress she made up until now.

She carelessly throws away the copy of the Daily Prophet from the 17th of February 1964 and unseeingly stares at the mess at her desk. It took some time to get a hold of copies this old, but they’re _not_ useful, and together with her overall rather short patience, she slowly starts considering some more drastic measures to get the information she’s looking for.

She started looking nearly a year ago and the lack of progress is absolutely unacceptable. It’s long past annoying and downright infuriating – it’s _impossible_ that a man of Dumbledore’s age doesn’t have some skeletons hidden somewhere and she refuses to believe that she’s the wrong person to dig them up.

After all, she has dirt on nearly everyone, so what distinguishes the current Headmaster from everybody else? It’s not like influence usually saves anyone from her.

A knock on the door of her study makes her sigh, but after one last glare at the pile of parchment, books and faded newspapers she calls, “Enter!”

Arcturus steps through the door, and after letting his eyes wander over the state of the room, he raises an amused brow at her.

“Yes, yes very funny. Do me a favour and call an elf with tea while I clean up this useless mess?” she says and thankfully, he knows better than to comment on her mood.

While she flicks her wand to either arrange all the stuff into neat piles or simply vanish it altogether, an elf brings them some tea and scones and Arcturus sits down at the other side of the desk.

“Still nothing?” he asks when she had her first sip of tea and she smiles slightly at how well he knows her.

“Nothing. I mean granted, I’m only through to the beginning of the first war and the time I spent looking into all this while still in Italy was mostly wasted, due to lacking resources, but there’s nothing but praise, and praise and oh – more praise,” she sneers, unable to help herself. It’s not like she has to hide her contempt in her own home.

Arcturus hums, looking out of the windows with a slight frown before he says, “You know, I highly valuate your researching skills – “

“Don’t coddle me, just out with it,” she demands, ignoring the amused twitch of his lips.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go backwards. Since his defeat of Grindelwald, the man’s reputation is so golden and he holds so much power, it would surprise me if you find anything of great impact. If you start in his youth, on the other hand, you might find something big that you can connect to seemingly unimportant details from more recently.”

She stares at him and only years of experience keep her from hitting her forehead. “That… That makes so much sense, Merlin and Morgana I can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself,” she grinds out. She hates being wrong, utterly detests having only herself to blame, but at least Arcturus is one of the few people she can accept witnessing it. Barely.

He shrugs and takes a sip of his tea. “Sometimes it’s easier to see certain things if you’re not in the middle of it. After all, it’s your usual process and normally works rather well.”

She sighs and leans her head back. “As true as that might be, normally it’s not this important either.”

He only hums, knowing better than to attempt convincing her differently.

“I talked to Baldwin Odgen,” he changes the topic after a while, a smirk playing around his lips. “The Wizengamot is still debating who should have the permanent seat of Chief Warlock. There is still a large fraction that is blocking everyone not absolutely light, but the neutral and dark fractions are large enough to block _their_ candidates. In three weeks, the ultimatum runs out and it looks like it’ll fall to the inherited family seats to make a decision, per the emergency decree.”  

She raises an intrigued eyebrow, unable to help the amusement she feels at the chaos. “How are the old families’ affiliations distributed amongst the fractions?”

“Well,” he grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Most of them are neutral or dark, due to the trend of the last years for lighter families to disregard any tradition and rule that they label dark, for whatever reason. Many of them never took up their seats or named a proxy.”

She rolls her eyes. “This is ridiculous, that are rules instated by the founders of the Wizengamot for Merlin’s sake, as if something being old makes it automatically dark. Anyway, who are the likely candidates?”

She thinks about what Regulus told her two weeks ago, hoping that this doesn’t turn out as a disaster anyway.

“If you weren’t so annoyed with your recent research, I’d tease you some more but well. They’re going to ask me after Regulus refused due to his work in the Department of Mysteries and raising Hadrian. Then there’s Lord Greengrass and Lady Longbottom. They’re going to officially approach me about it at the beginning of next week.”

Sitting up straighter she stares at him, incredulous. After a moment, she narrows her eyes. “And since when do you know about this, exactly?” she asks, cursing herself for getting so immersed in her research that she missed something like this.

He fondly shakes his head. “Only since today, dear, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of keeping something like this from you. Minister Fudge apparently supports my nomination, for whatever reason he still holds me in high regard.”

“Don’t tease me,” she says with a huff but smiles. “Either way, this are fantastic news, but let us wait with the celebrations until after the election.”

He nods and puts his tea down, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t think I’d ever get involved in all this Ministry business again, but I have to say that I like the idea. Oh, that reminds me, do you have a list of the current members of the Board of Governors for Hogwarts?”

She laughs but pulls out the top drawer of her desk, rummaging around until she finds what he asked for. It’s a bit of a surprise, the energy and liveliness Arcturus walks around with these days, but she’s glad to see him returning from his reclusive, lonely life. Even with Lucretia spending a lot of her time with him in France, this change of scenery and renewed purpose is doing him a lot of good.

Handing the list over she gets up. “There you are, don’t overwork yourself. I need to get to the Ministry, I have some things to look up in the archives.”

She knows her grin is showing too many teeth and it’s Arcturus’ turn to laugh. “Well, I’d wish you fun, but I doubt you’ll have that, and wishing you success would be redundant. You always found something when you set your mind to it.”

“Right you are,” she throws over her shoulder, already half out of the door. Maybe it’s not just Arcturus who needs some purpose in his life she muses before she apparates from the foyer.

The atrium is silent and there are only a few torches that spend the barest amount of light. A look at her wristwatch tells her that it’s already 9 pm and, remembering that it’s also a Friday, the lack of activity isn’t much of a surprise.

It suits her well enough and she quickly makes her way over to the lifts, heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. She waits impatiently for the announcement of level two, all the while berating herself for overseeing something so obvious.

“Yes, yes, Auror Headquarters, Wizengamot Administration Services, _I_ _know._ Just let me out,” she murmurs to herself, barely keeping herself from cursing the door open. You would think magic would make this stuff faster.

She can hear the low murmur and bustle from the Auror offices but ignores it, walking past like she belongs here and only throwing an “Evening,” at the old man who’s sitting at the Welcome Desk to the archives.

“Miss, you can’t –“ he stammers, half out of his seat, but she’s already at the double doors.

“Oh don’t worry,” she smiles thinly, holding up a hand that stops him in his tracks. “I have clearance, of course.”

Not waiting for an answer, she turns back, silently spelling the doors open. Nodding to herself in satisfaction when he doesn’t follow her, she locks them behind her and flicks her wand to light up the room, sighing at the view of endless shelves containing files.

Ignoring the first few rows, she makes her way to an inconspicuous desk in a corner, empty besides a big, blank book. She sits down and throws up a strong Privacy Ward before tapping her wand to it, saying, “Dumbledore, Albus. Family history.”

She smirks in satisfaction when files shoot towards her, using her last amount of patience to wait until there’s a neat stack on the table. Looking around again to make sure she’s still alone, she gets to the tedious task of copying every single one of them, wondering for the hundredth time why in Merlin’s name she didn’t start with this.

It takes her thirty minutes, and another ten to erase all magical residue of what she just did – a useful little spell she learnt in Japan that’s only downside is that it takes some time – and she’s out of the Ministry only an hour after she arrived, hundreds of pages with information shrunken down in her coat pocket.

She just hopes that there’s something in there – and not for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, I really liked how this chapter turned out (and hope that it placates some of the exasperation many felt with Sirius... )


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your feedback, you guys are fantastic! <3
> 
> There are a few, short things vaguely adopted from Canon but it's necessary for the plot so please forgive me. :D

Hadrian is just sitting down at the Slytherin table for breakfast, both him and Blaise slightly out of breath after they forgot the time on their morning run, when Thanatos and Arcturus’ owl sweep down on him, the former crowing indignantly at the majestic eagle owl.

“Alright you two, no need to peck each other’s eyes out,” he mutters, giving them both some bacon before taking off the letters.

He opens the one from Regulus first and could swear that Thanatos is smug about it before he takes off again, and he spares a fleeting thought for how he managed to get two animals that are both so terribly petty. Unfolding his letter, he nicks his finger with his knife, hidden under the table, and lets a drop of blood fall onto the parchment.

_London, October 8 th _

_Dear Har,_

_I don’t know if you read this before you open the Prophet, but I have the hope that you’re going to get the good news from me first. Yesterday evening (or well, tonight for me), the Wizengamot elected Arcturus as the new Chief Warlock. It was a close call with Lord Greengrass and would have never turned out like this if the whole Wizengamot would have been allowed to vote, but their inability to come to a decision over the last year and the dismissal of the light families to take up their inherited seats worked in our favour._

_Who would have thought freeing Sirius would come with so many far-reaching consequences?_

_Of course, there’s already some protest forming amongst the elected members, but with Fudge and his encourage supporting the vote, they most likely won’t get very far. Not to mention that it’s nearly impossible to do anything against the Ancient Laws._

_But it sounds like some families that ignored their seats are starting to reconsider – no doubt, at least partly Dumbledore’s doing._

_Oh, I also finally found out why Fudge likes Arcturus so much despite his public stance against any form of corruption and being a Black – apparently, dear grandfather was one of the biggest supporters to get rid of Bagnold and also campaigned against Crouch. You can probably guess why._

_The funny part is that Arcturus never supported Fudge but called for another candidate altogether, but before the decision was made, he moved to France and left me the title as Lord Black, so it must have slipped Fudge’s mind. All that, together with Arcturus’ comparably moderate views, the power he holds, and his far-reaching connections within the Ministry and consequently Fudge’s own people, have Fudge trying to get into his good graces for a long time now._

_The only downside is that he won’t be able to step in as your proxy next year. I still think that it wouldn’t be smart if I do it, as it might lead to accusations of me influencing your decisions. Maybe you can ask Cassiopeia, or we can even talk to Sirius about it?_

_Anyway, there’s no rush and we can discuss it when you’re here for Yule._

_I hope everything is still going well, and that Flint isn’t working you too hard. Did Draco come to his senses yet? (I always said he’s a spoiled brat but Salazar, that’s really stretching it by now. Even Narcissa is exasperated, and that’s really saying something.)_

_I miss you!_

_Regulus_

He slowly folds the letter and puts it away into his bag, unable to hide his satisfied smile. He has been uncertain if Arcturus could really win against Lord Greengrass, considering the reputation of the Blacks even amongst the dark families, but then, maybe that’s exactly what worked in Arcturus’ favour.

Over the last few weeks, he started getting into the numerous Wizengamot regulations, and it makes sense that most of the families that were allowed to vote last night would choose either Arcturus or Lord Greengrass, seeing that the latter is known to be neutral with sympathy to the dark.

He just doesn’t understand how the light fraction didn’t see that coming, there have been far more moderate candidates over the last year that they blocked, and they should know that after a year without decision, it falls to the inherited seats to decide.

The Wizengamot is separated half and half into elected and inherited seats, and due to the lack of participation from some traditionally light families, like the Prewett’s for example, it’s not much of a surprise that this vote turned out as it did – a huge loss for the light.

Honestly, he doesn’t get how anyone can pass up the chance at political participation, even Neville’s grandmother deems it important and the Longbottom’s are as light as they come, albeit still traditional to some degree.

He catches Daphne’s eyes across the table, and she smiles. “Congratulations, I think it’s a good vote.”

“Thanks, though it’s not really my doing,” he grins, glad that she doesn’t take it personally in any way.

She shrugs and taps a finger to the folded letter next to her plate. “Dad said it makes sense, and that he would have voted for him as well if the neutral fraction didn’t need a candidate. He mostly agreed because the other possible choices of the neutral fraction lean more towards the light side.”

“Even my father voted for Arcturus,” Theo says with a small smirk. “Granted, very reluctantly, but he said that he can differentiate between personal grudges and political advantages. Not that it’s true, but well…”

He barely prevents himself from snorting and shakes his head slightly. “I’m curious how it will go from here. Regulus wrote that some of the families that didn’t take up their seats are reconsidering, and then I can also name my proxy’s next year, so the whole balance is shifting.”

Daphne tilts her head slightly and hums before saying, “That’s three more seats for you alone, right? That means there will also be a few more elected members, but the inherited seats have more impact in some decisions, especially with Fudge backing them up.”

“Merlin you two, I can’t believe you’re discussing politics at breakfast,” Blaise groans from next to him and he laughs.

“It’s interesting. Well, mostly. Reading through all those regulations and laws is a bit tedious but I’m planning to make good use of my seats so it’s also important,” he grins, which only gets a raised brow out of Blaise.

Ever since they got on the Quidditch team, Blaise joins him for his work-out in the mornings, leading to him being rather disgruntled until breakfast is finished.

“Come on, we have Defence in five minutes,” Theo says, already getting up but his whole posture is screaming aversion. Not that he’s alone with that, Hadrian would even go so far and say that Lockhart is worse than Quirrell.

“Let’s catch Neville on the way,” he sighs, deciding to read Arcturus’ letter during the lesson – it’s not like Lockhart will notice, anyway.

“I need to go to the bathroom; can you wait for me?” Daphne asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Why don’t you use the one on the second floor?” he asks with a frown, waving to Neville across the Great Hall.

Daphne shakes her head. “No way, Myrtle is a nuisance. Nobody uses that one.”

He stops in his tracks and stares at her, causing Blaise to bump into him. “Who?”

“There’s this ghost in the second-floor bathroom, Moaning Myrtle,” she says with a frown, confusion obvious on her face. “Why?”

Shaking his head, he keeps walking. “Not important, I just wondered who would ambush people in a bathroom,” he says, but inwardly he’s cheering slightly. Between classes, Quidditch training, potions with Snape, his own studies, researching Wizengamot regulations and spending time with his friends, he didn’t find much time yet to search for the Chamber but this might be just the lead he needs to not run aimlessly through the school.

He then remembers that he also planned to drag Blaise away to pick their duelling practice back up and sighs to himself. He’s pretty sure that no 12-year-old should be this busy.

Neville is waiting for them at the double doors, looking as enthused about the coming lesson as all of them, but as soon as he’s in hearing distance, asks, “Hey, did you hear how the vote turned out last night?”

He tells him about what Regulus wrote while they’re waiting for Daphne, and Neville complains about his grandmother not writing him. “Honestly, I don’t know if she thinks that I don’t care or that I wouldn’t get it,” he says, rolling his eyes when they finally make their way to the classroom.

It’s not like Lockhart is ever on time and they take their usual seats at the back. “Maybe she’s just sulking that she lost,” Blaise says with a grin, finally getting out of his tired mood and Neville grins.

Hadrian feels eyes on him and turns a bit, catching Draco looking at him. He’s sitting next to Pansy and averts his eyes instantly.

“This is getting so ridiculous,” Theo mutters, obviously having caught the interaction and he sighs.

“This got ridiculous the day after try-outs. By now it’s just plain sad,” he answers, rolling his eyes and pulling out his parchment, quills, and ink-bottle to answer his letters.

“Would you even accept it if he apologised now?” Theo asks, sneering slightly and throwing a contemptuous look in Draco’s direction.

He tilts his head and thinks about it for a moment before answering, “Honestly, I don’t know. I mean it’s been a month, and I know that he has to be miserable with all of you cutting him as well, but I can’t really see him apologising anyway.”

Their conversation is cut off by Lockhart’s arrival and he tunes his babbling out. It’s true, he has no idea if he would accept Draco’s apology by now. As weird as it sounds, he kind of got used to him not hanging around them and he doesn’t understand how Draco can let something as inconsequential as a Quidditch position get between them.

Even with his insult being harsher than it had any right to be, he could have overlooked it if he apologised a few days later, but a month is stretching it, as Regulus said. At the same time, he still feels a bit sorry – Theo, Blaise, Daphne, Tracey, and Milli were all more outraged on his behalf than he would have expected and very firmly took their stance in the following days.

It’s not like it’s his fault though, and he’s not going to do anything about it if he can help it.

He pushes the thought away and smirks faintly when Lockhart calls Finnigan to the front of the classroom to act out a scene from whichever book they’re currently on; he tried that exactly once with Hadrian, something Atana didn’t like at all and showed vehemently. Merlin bless her.

When the lesson is finally over, he holds Blaise back a bit so that they’re walking a few steps behind the rest of their friends. “I have potions tutoring with Snape after class today. Meet me at 5 in the 7th-floor corridor, I want to show you something.”

Blaise looks intrigued and he can’t help the smirk, certain that the room won’t disappoint.

“We have Quidditch after dinner, you know that, right?” Blaise says, holding open the door to the Charms classroom.

“We only need until dinner,” he mutters under his breath, thinking that one hour will probably be enough to get into duelling again.

They’re starting to practice the Engorgement and Shrinking Charms and, after mastering both, he spends most of the lesson helping out his friends and some of the Hufflepuffs.

Most students got over their reservations about him being a Parselmouth by now, and while he definitely doesn’t forget about those that avoided him for the first few weeks of the term, he went back to assist whoever asks him to. It’s only going to benefit him in the long run.

The remaining classes pass uneventfully, and he stays behind after potions for his tutoring with Snape; he’s a bit nervous because he actually came up with a possible solution for their still existing problem with the Immunity Potion his mother tried to invent.

He knows that it worked perfectly with the Elixir of Life, which of course, he can’t tell Snape. They need a way to bind the various ingredients together without them counteracting or nullifying each other and he might have come up with something.

When the last students filtered out of the classroom, he silently starts gathering the needed stuff before bracing himself. It’s not that he’s afraid to propose something that might be wrong, it’s just that the answer seems rather simple, and he doesn’t want to insinuate that Snape didn’t think about it already.

“Professor, I read over our notes over the last week and I wondered…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair and wondering when he became so cautious.

Snape looks at him with a raised brow, probably asking himself the same thing and he grits his teeth.

“I wondered if Phoenix tears would work? Not only do they have their own healing properties, but they work against volatile reactions without rendering the effects of the other ingredients useless.”

Snape just stares at him for long moments and he barely keeps himself from fidgeting, before Snape grunts something incomprehensible and nods sharply.

“Indeed, that should work. I should have thought of that. May I ask how you came up with the idea?” he asks, already turning his back and rummaging through his private stock.

He bites his lip because he really just thought about it after pondering what might come closest to the Elixir of Life, and he doesn’t enjoy lying to Snape all that much, but it’s not like he can tell the truth. Still, he hoped he wouldn’t ask.

“I was reading about substances with healing properties and the book Arcturus gave me mentioned Phoenix tears. I know they’re incredibly rare but thought it could be worth a try.”

Snape hums and takes a few moments before returning with a small crystal vial. The liquid inside is clear and shimmering slightly, reflecting the flickering lights from the torches.

They set up their cauldron – he lost count of just how many times they already attempted the potion over the last year – and Snape dispels the Stasis Charm.

“Good, can you prepare the vervail, the snake fangs, and the moondew? I think if we mix them with a few drops of Phoenix tears before adding them, it might work,” Snape says, and the fact alone that he’s asking instead of ordering is a sign for his excitement. Granted, it’s also the only one, but they worked together long enough by now that Hadrian picks up on it.

When he leaves the classroom an hour later it’s with a small, self-satisfied smile and the knowledge that they created the first existing potion that immunises against several common illnesses, and that he participated more than simply cutting and crushing plants and parts of animals.

Snape even said that he considers submitting their findings to one of the numerous Potions journals, with him as a co-creator, they just need to come up with an answer to the question of why they worked together in the first place.

He nearly skips all the way up to the 7th-floor corridor and greets Blaise with a bright grin, who’s leaning against the wall next to the tapestry, ankles crossed and both of their brooms next to him.

“What has you in such a good mood?” he asks with a grin, pushing himself away from the wall. “And are you going to tell me what we’re doing here now?”

He just keeps grinning and says, “Give me a second,” before pacing in front of the wall, picturing the duelling room at Grimmauld Place clearly in his head and ignoring Blaise’s amused expression.

It quickly morphs into surprise when the door appears, and he gestures for him to go in first. He has to push him a bit to be able to enter as well and has the rare pleasure of seeing Blaise speechless.

“I think we should pick our duelling training back up, we can throw simple spells at each other,” he says after a moment, and Blaise grins brightly.

“Brilliant idea! What is this room though, and why does it look exactly like Grimmauld’s?”

He shrugs his outer robes off and says, “It can become anything you want, I found it last year. I just thought we can start with this and later go on to different set-ups, you know, like at the Duelling Championship.”

“You and all your secrets,” Blaise sighs, shaking his head but he’s smirking and walking over to the other side, taking a duelling stance. “Should we take turns with throwing spells at each other or did you have a different idea?”

He twirls his wand between his fingers and shrugs. “I mean, we could attempt to do it like an actual duel but keep to harmless spells, that way we can practice dodging, shielding, and aiming. It’s harder, but probably more effective as well.”

Blaise grimaces slightly but nods. “I never thought I’d be the guy to go running, play Quidditch and practice duelling, all in one day. You’re a bad influence, you know that, right?”

“Yes, but you love me anyway,” he laughs, followed by a Leglocker Blaise barely avoids.

They quickly fall into a frenzy of movement and spells, dropping and blocking and shouting, and it doesn’t take much time until they both get hit for the first time.

After approximately half an hour they’re both panting and calling a halt, plopping onto the floor rather inelegantly. “Merlin, we shouldn’t have waited nearly two months before doing this,” Blaise mutters and he only grunts in agreement, rubbing at his still tingling legs.

He might have continued with his reading and some spells under Death’s watch, as well as keeping up with his wandless magic, but it’s not the same as actual duelling and it really shows.

“Damn, dinner starts in 15 minutes and we still have Quidditch afterwards,” he sighs, and they both stay where they are for another 5 minutes before getting up.

A few spells on their clothes later, they leave the room and watch as the door disappears.

“Let’s try doing this every day, or at least every second,” Blaise says when they’re walking down the stairs and he grins, delighted that they’re on the same page.

Quidditch practice is hard that night. It’s raining and storming, and Flint is relentless in pushing them to their limits. He loses all feeling in his hands after the first 20 minutes and no amount of Warming Charms helps.

It’s topped off by Flint holding a 10-minute speech at the end, including a personal warning to Hadrian that he’s going to regret ever joining if they lose their first match in two weeks.

It’s not like Flint’s antagonism is anything new – every single training, three days a week, he takes his mood out on him and he’s slowly but surely getting pissed. Granted, the fact alone that he’s on the team lessened the overall animosity, seeing that nearly every older Slytherin that has a problem with him is part of it and they’re too ambitious to go after their own Seeker, but that doesn’t make it a comfortable atmosphere.

Still, he’s too stubborn to give up and grits his teeth through all of it. At least he can share his suffering with Blaise, who already asked a few times why he won’t simply hex them, but not only is he a bit cautious to pick a fight with five 5th-years, he also thinks that it might have more impact to win them the match.

Their first game is going to be against Gryffindor, and he knows that their Seeker is their weak spot. It wouldn’t do to be over-confident, but he’s optimistic, at least. And if they don’t stop getting on his nerves after that, he can still consider hexing them or think of something else.

And if he loses, well. He’ll come up with something.

They don’t do anything but taking a quick shower upon arriving back at the castle, and he’s utterly glad that the next day is Friday. They don’t have any afternoon classes, no Quidditch training, and not only will he have time to relax a bit, but to visit that ominous bathroom on the second floor and the residing ghost.

A ghost named Myrtle, after Tom wrote about accidentally killing a Myrtle – he doesn’t believe in coincidences enough to actually think that this is one.

* * *

He keeps to his plan after History ends the next day. After agreeing with Blaise to duel after dinner, he leaves his friends with the excuse that he needs some time to himself and pulls out his Invisibility Cloak in a hidden alcove, before making his way to the second floor.

He finds the bathroom quickly enough and slips inside, slowly pulling off the cloak. A look around confirms what Daphne said the day before – there’s dust settled on the sinks, the doors of the stalls look loose and the mirrors are slightly blurred. For what it’s worth, it appears like nobody has been in here in ages.

He startles when there’s suddenly a loud, screeching wail but gathers himself quickly, throwing up a Silencing Charm for good measure. He’s not inclined to explain to anyone what he’s doing in a haunted girl’s bathroom.

“You’re a boy! This is a girl’s bathroom!” the voice howls and he winces at the volume, but tries to hide it to not offend her before he could ask anything.

There’s a girl floating in front of him, Ravenclaw uniform still there, with big glasses and two pigtails, looking at him with accusation in her eyes. “Are you here to insult me, too? People only ever come here to insult me, but normally they’re at least girls!”

He lifts his hands and smiles. He didn’t exactly plan what he’s going to say but thinks that flattery might be the way to go. “I know, I’m sorry. But I was looking for you, you know?”

She stops in her frantic movements and tilts her head. “Why, so you could insult me?” she asks and instantly starts crying.

“No, I just heard that you’re here all alone and thought I’d say hi, you know.” It sounds ridiculous even to his own ears but Merlin, she’s too loud for his sensitive ears and much to his surprise, it seems to work, because she stops wailing instantly and smiles at him.

“Oh, how nice of you! And who are you, then?”

“I’m Hadrian, I’m in my second year.”

She floats closer to him and he has to keep himself from taking a step back at how close she hovers in front of him. Most ghosts in the castle tend to avoid him, except for the Bloody Baron who actually talks only to him, from time to time.

“You feel kind of funny,” she says, putting some distance between them and he thinks she’s frowning but it’s hard to tell with her translucent form. “Threatening. You don’t want to harm me?”

Quickly shaking his head, he smiles again. “No, not at all. Also, I’m just a second year, there’s not much I could do to you anyway, right?” It’s true enough, he has no idea how to actually harm a ghost, except for that one little spell Remus taught him over the holidays for dealing with Peeves. But he’s a Poltergeist, so it works a bit differently.

“I guess,” she says slowly but obviously comes to the conclusion that he’s harmless. Really, he doesn’t even know exactly what makes ghosts so wary of him, though he guesses that it has to do something with his relationship with Death. “Why did you want to meet me, then?” she asks, and he files the question away for later.

He bites his bottom-lip, uncertain if he should just come out with it or try more small-talk first.

Deciding on the latter, he asks, “Why do you always stay here? Wouldn’t it be more interesting to roam the castle, maybe talk to the other ghosts from time to time?”

Myrtle shrugs, floating in a circle around him. “Nobody likes me, I cry too much, they say. Also, it’s where I died, it feels… right to stay here. Tell me more about you? You’re pretty, you know?”

He bites his tongue to not laugh or cringe at the last statement, and also to hide how excited he is that she mentioned the topic he actually wants to talk about. “That’s mean though, you seem nice to me,” he says, hoping it will divert her from her actual question.

If the darkening of her face is anything to go by, it works. “I don’t know if it’s rude to ask, the other ghosts don’t talk to me much,” he starts, thinking that a bit of shared suffering – not that it’s suffering for him but she doesn’t need to know that – might help his case. “How did you die in a bathroom? It’s a bit unusual I think…”

Her whole face lights up, much to his amusement. “Ooh, it was awful! I don’t know what happened! I was here in that stall, crying because Olive Hornby teased me again when someone came in and spoke in a weird language. It was a boy and I wanted to tell him that he’s not allowed to be here, just like you. And when I left the stall, I died.”

He has to fight very hard to keep his expression compassionate and not eager or cheerful. “I’m sorry Myrtle, that sounds horrible! I imagine it’s even worse, not knowing exactly what happened!”

She nods vigorously, smiling at him. “You’re very nice. I just saw big, yellow eyes and then – I was dead.”

Well. That’s more useful than he could have ever hoped for, really. Who would have thought that Tom Riddle’s first victim would come back as a ghost and help him find the Chamber of Secrets? According to her story, the entrance has to be here, somewhere.

“Do you remember where you saw them? You don’t have to tell me, of course, I’m just curious,” he says, but she seems more than happy to tell someone.

Merlin, but he doesn’t understand how anyone would want to come back as a ghost, it must be utterly boring to be unable to actually interact with the living world besides talking. Well, except when you’re Binns and can simply drone on and on about Goblin Wars, if that’s your thing.

“There!” she exclaims, pointing at a row of sinks in the middle of the room. “If you take a look and die, you can share my toilet,” she adds, and he barely covers his snort with a cough.

“Thanks Myrtle, I appreciate it,” he says as seriously as he can muster before turning around to inspect the sinks.

Thinking about it, it actually makes sense that the entrance is located here – the Basilisk must have been able to move around the school somehow, seeing that it’s hard to overlook a creature that big if it simply roamed the hallways. He’d have to do some research into that.

It doesn’t take him long to find the small, engraved snake at the side of one of the taps and he ducks his head to hide the bright grin on his face.

He ponders if he should risk trying to open it with Myrtle here – he doesn’t want to go down right now, he’s not a Gryffindor after all, but he desperately wants to know if it works and he doubts that she ever leaves.

A look over his shoulder shows him that Myrtle is watching him, and he sighs to himself before saying, “Myrtle, do you think you could keep a secret for me?”

She cocks her head but as far as he can see she appears to be excited. “Is it a dirty secret?”

He laughs and shakes his head at her. “A bit, maybe. I just have a theory about what might have caused your death and I want to test it to make sure. But nobody in the school must know if I’m correct, because it could be dangerous to others, you know? It would be our secret.”

He nearly feels a bit bad, manipulating her like that, but he really doesn’t need anyone to know that he’s searching for the Chamber.

“Ooh, that sounds exciting! Yes, I’ll keep your secret, it’s so nice of you, trying to find out what killed me!” she says, bopping up and down and he quickly turns around so she doesn’t see his silent laughter.

After calming down again, he tilts his head and hisses the first thing that comes to his mind. _$Open$_

He didn’t think it would work and quickly takes a step back when the sinks start disappearing into the floor, a dark tunnel opening up. He can only stare for long moments, absolutely incredulous that he actually managed to find the bloody Chamber without even really searching in the first place.

Well, he wouldn’t have without Myrtle, but still.

He shakes his head to refocus and squashes the impulse to go exploring right now. He’s going to talk to Death first and take Atana with him when he does it.

 _$Close$_ he hisses, watching as the entrance closes again and then turns around.

Myrtle is staring at him, mouth slightly open and says, “That’s the language the boy spoke before I died.”

He nods, already pulling out his cloak. “It’s Parseltongue, I think there might be a snake in there. It’s why I won’t go down right now. Don’t get me wrong, your toilet is very nice, but I’d like to live a few more years if I have the chance, you know?”

She sighs but says, “What a pity, but I understand. It’s a standing offer, anyway. Will you come back?”

“Yes, I promise. And remember, don’t tell anyone, alright?”

After getting confirmation and hoping dearly that she’ll keep her word, he slips out of the bathroom and slowly makes his way back down to the dungeons, a skip in his steps.

Tapping into his mental connection with Death, he asks, _“Hey, are you there? I just found the entrance!”_

It takes a moment before the answer comes, the rumble reverberating through his head before he adjusts to the strange sensation. _“Hey little one, not bad! Did you go in already?”_

He sounds slightly worried and Hadrian grins to himself _. “Of course not, though I wanted to. Anyway, I have two questions. The first is unrelated to the Chamber, actually. Is there a reason that ghosts feel uncomfortable in my presence?”_

Death chuckles softly but it still makes him wince. _“Of course there is. You might think it’s due to me, but not really, there’s no lasting mark from me on you. Granted, our mental connection is rather… unique, but they shouldn’t be able to sense it. It’s more about your Peverell ancestry. They were known and accomplished Necromancer’s, a line-gift if you will, and, seeing that you’re the first heir in generations to be accepted by blood and magic, I suspect that it’s palpable in you. It’s why your magic is so dark already”_

He hums and thinks about it for a moment. He always put it down to his relation to the Blacks, but this makes even more sense. _“So, ghosts are wary of Necromancers?”_

_“Well, yes. To put it simple, an accomplished Necromancer has the potential power to banish a ghost into the afterlife. You’d think after hundreds of years in that form, they would embrace the chance, but it goes against the very nature of a ghost, of what formed it in the first place – the wish to hold on to the living world.”_

Death scoffs and he grins slightly at the obvious indignation. _“On you, it’s not very noticeable yet, especially because you mask your magic. Ghosts avoid talking to you, but they don’t go out of their way to stay away from you. If you pick up Necromancy in a few years, that might change.”_

He stays silent for a while to process the information, but eventually, his excitement over the Chamber wins over _. “Alright, my other question is, what can you tell me about the Chamber? Is it safe to go in? Do you know how it went for Tom Riddle?”_

 _“Honestly,”_ Death grumbles and he’s sure he’d roll his eyes if he could. _“It’s safe for you, as long as you’re careful. The Basilisk is going to wake up when you enter but will assume that you’re a Parselmouth to do so. It would only harm you if it discovered that you’re not and thus an intruder. For everything else, why don’t you just ask him yourself?”_

He bites his tongue and sighs softly. _“Can’t you just tell me?!”_

_“Little One, I don’t care about mortals enough to have paid so much attention to one single person. You’re an exception, you know that. I have no idea about Tom Riddle’s general day-to-day life beyond the war he caused and what he did to his bloody soul. Just ask him yourself already. You can even gloat that you already found the Chamber.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Thanks though,”_ he says after a moment and slips into the common room after a few students without taking his cloak off.

He doesn’t even know exactly why he avoided talking to Tom for so long and thinks that he probably just overreacted to Death’s warning.

Thankfully, his dorm is empty when he enters and he pulls Death’s book out of his trunk, before sitting down on his bed, spells the curtains shut and leans against the headboard.

**Hello Tom, how is it going?**

He impatiently taps his fingers against the worn pages but doesn’t have to wait long for an answer.

_ Hello Hadrian. Am I mistaken or has it been some time since you wrote to me? _

He snorts softly, of course he would ask.

**Two or three months, I think. I was busy, start of the school year and all that.  
I found the Chamber.**

There’s a long pause before Tom answers, his writing slightly more sloppy than usual.

_ You’re kidding. You can’t have found it within two months. _

He smirks in satisfaction, taking more joy in rubbing that under his nose than strictly necessary.

**Oh, but I did. 5 weeks, to be exact.  
Second-floor girl’s bathroom, the sinks in the middle, third tap from the right. You have to simply say Open in Parseltongue.**

_ You’re a very curious boy, Hadrian. May I ask how you managed to find it that fast? _

Well, it’s not like it costs him anything.

**You may if you tell me in exchange if it’s safe to go down there and what I have to be careful about, how to make sure the Basilisk doesn’t kill me on the spot.**

Another slightly long pause, before more sentences appear.

Very well, that’s fair.    
_You don’t have to do much, you’ll come out at the end of the pipe and have to walk a few hundred feet until you come to another door, which opens the same way. Then, keep your eyes closed, she has been in hibernation for the last 50 years and is going to wake up when you open that door._   
_After the first time, she’s going to stay in her liar but when a new heir arrives, she comes out by herself._   
_Keep your eyes closed after opening the second door – that’s important. Then talk to her in Parseltongue, she’ll be able to make her gaze unharmful and let you explore._

He frowns, wondering if it’s really that easy, but he thinks Death would have probably told him if it wasn’t, and Tom is bound to tell him the truth.

_ So, how did you find it? _

Of course, impatient git.

**Remember Myrtle?**

_ Yes, what does she have to do with anything? _

**Oh Tom, did you never revisit the place of your first murder? (Salazar, was it even your first? Nevermind.)  
She haunts the toilet as a ghost. I just had a little chat with her about how she died, and here we are. Sorry if you expected something more spectacular.**

_ I have to admit, that’s a bit disappointing, but at the same time, it’s comforting that you didn’t manage to find the Chamber all by yourself.  
By the way, you should be careful about the Basilisk, she wasn’t… completely sane, the last time. You’ll be fine, but don’t let her out. _

He raises a brow and takes a moment to revel in the satisfaction that he was right when he suspected that Tom didn’t tell him everything.

**I didn’t plan to, but thanks anyway.**

The itch to have a look is growing under his skin and, after a quick Tempus that tells him that he still has an hour until dinner, he decides to at least get a first impression today.

_ So, are we continuing our little question game? How’s second year going for you? _

Staring at the neat letters, he wonders if Tom is actually trying to have a normal conversation with him.

**Sorry, I’m going to check out the Chamber now. But this time, I won’t wait another two months to write to you, alright?**

_ Fair enough. Do you promise, though? _

Alright, it has to be _really_ boring inside there if Tom actually asks that of him, but, ignoring the thought that these are a few too many promises for one day for his liking, he writes,

**Yeah alright, I promise.**

Golden light encircles his wrist and he stares in horror, only now realising that they both wrote in Parselscript. The bloody bastard. At least he only promised for ‘this time,’ but still, he can’t believe he got tricked so easily. He didn’t even know a simple promise could work like that.

_ Damn you, Tom. But, you know, you have to be very desperate to do that, a bit pathetic if you ask me. _

With that, he snaps the diary shut, takes care to put it away safely, and throws his cloak on again before leaving the dorm. He has Slytherin’s quarters to explore, after all, he can worry about manipulative teenage Dark Lords later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, what do you think? Political drama, Draco's still a little bitch, Blaise is a gem, the Chamber was found and Tom is back! I hope you enjoyed it! <33


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your feedback!! <3 
> 
> I edited this after my night shift, so please forgive me and let me know if you find any mistakes! :)

The annoyance about the binding promise Tom got out of him fades as soon as he leaves the dorm, excitement over finally entering the Chamber taking over, and he has to restrain himself to stay undetected under his cloak.

Finding Atana doesn’t take long. She’s curled up in front of one of the fires in the common room, staring at Draco and hissing threats and insults under her breath. Considering that he can’t understand her, he looks pretty unnerved and he presses a hand against his mouth to not laugh and give himself away.

Crouching down next to her, he hisses _$Hey, I’m going to check out the Chamber, follow me out of the common room?$_

The low chatter masks the sibilant sound well enough, and while she grumbles a bit about him being invisible, she does as asked and provides him with a safe opportunity to walk out of the common room without anybody wondering why the door opens.

Everybody is used to her coming and going by now, but his friends might have suspected it being him if they didn’t see her leave.

He picks her up as soon as the stone wall closes behind him and tells her to stay in her normal size. She might be heavier like this, but it’s not like he’s not used to it by now.

_$Hatchling, are you sure it’s a good idea to visit the queen of serpents? I mean she’s huge, you know that, right?!$_

He spares a thought for how she knows that it’s a female but decides not to ask. _$I know, but we’re going to be fine. Death wouldn’t let me go if he thought otherwise. Just, maybe keep your sassing to a minimum.$_

_$I’m not sassy, I’m honest.$_

Knowing better than to contradict her and just now leaving the dungeon, he stays silent for the rest of the way, only running an affectionate finger over her head.

To his surprise, Myrtle isn‘t there when he enters the bathroom again, and he doesn’t waste any time to open the entrance. He stares at the dark, narrow pipe, questioning if he really wants to jump down there – he tries to picture a teenage Dark Lord doing that and snorts. Granted, he has no idea how Tom Riddle looks, but he doesn’t have to for the image to be hilarious.

Shaking his head, he clenches his jaw and sits down on the edge. _$You should maybe shrink yourself for this,$_ he says as an afterthought and, after she’s small, tugs her into his pocket, curling his hand over it just to be safe.

He takes a deep breath and pushes himself off. It’s wet, dark, and slimy, and he carefully keeps his elbows tugged in. Somehow, he can’t believe that this is how Salazar himself entered his quarters, but he disregards the thought in favour of shooting a wandless Cushioning Charm when he sees the exit in front of him.

He should have kept his wand in his hand.

He groans upon the impact, just hoping dearly that it will be worth all the trouble. He cringes when he lights his wand and sees all the bones on the floor and the state of his robes, but then shakes his head at himself; honestly, he might have become a bit spoiled over the last few years.

_$That was utterly dreadful and you’re going to find a different way down here. Now let me out,$_ Atana demands and as soon as he does and she’s back around his shoulders, flicks her tail at him.

_$I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s not my fault that’s the entrance. Can we go now?$_ he asks in fond exasperation, holding up his hand to keep her from hitting his face.

She sighs but bops her head, burying herself a bit deeper into the hood of his robes and he absent-mindedly casts a Warming Charm at her.

A long, narrow tunnel is stretching out in front of him and he slowly starts walking, ignoring the crunching under his feet and the smell of stale air. The walls are dark-green from humidity and it all appears rather eerie in the soft glow from his wand, but it doesn’t do much against the excitement bubbling under his skin.

There’s a shredded skin just around the corner and he jumps slightly before inspecting it more closely. Merlin but it’s huge, he really, _really_ hopes that Death’s and Tom’s predictions hold true.

After that, it doesn’t take long to reach the end of the corridor, a thick metal door adorned with more snakes coming up in front of him. _$Alright, I need to keep my eyes closed as soon as I open this one. I have no idea what a Basilisk’s gaze does to you – do me a favour and hide in my robes?$_

She bobs her head and he steels himself. His heart is racing in his chest and his hands are clammy, and for a short moment, he contemplates turning on his heel and leaving – really, he doesn’t _have_ to go in there – but he knows before the thought is finished that he won’t chicken out of this.

He’s a bit surprised to find that he’d like to have Blaise here with him, but he probably shouldn’t be. Regulus would be nice, too, come to think of it.

_$Open,$_ he hisses, partly to put a stop to all those thoughts – really, he loves them dearly but it’s not like wishful thinking will get him anywhere and he just needs to do this alone, needs to prove to himself that he’s still able to stand on his own feet. If anything goes wrong, there will always be Death.

The door groans and shudders, and he clenches his eyes shut, one hand on the damp wall before he takes two careful steps forward. There’s a low rumble coming from his left side and he inwardly pats himself on the shoulder for the ritual he did last year – honestly, he was never more grateful for his enhanced senses.

The noise gets louder, scales grinding against stone and it takes every little amount of self-restraint to not open his eyes, not pull his wand and to not run.

_$Who interrupts my sacred sleep?!$_ The voice is unlike anything he heard before, deep and rumbling, vibrating through his whole body, every sibilant sound sending shivers down his spine. You would think that he’s used to intense voices thanks to Death, but this is a different kind of fierce.

Swallowing, he answers, _$My name is Hadrian, Queen of the Serpents. I share an ancestor with Salazar Slytherin and came to pay tribute to his legacy.$_

Granted, technically he’s not Slytherin’s heir but he counts on the fact that it’s still a snake he’s dealing with here, and he doesn’t think that his Gryffindor heirship would do him any good right now.

_$You speak the language, that must mean you are worthy. You may open your eyes, my gaze won’t harm you.$_

On the one hand, he’s not that keen to test that out, but on the other hand, he really wants to be able to see again, so he holds his breath and slowly blinks his eyes open. He instantly takes a step back – nothing could have prepared him for the sheer size, nor for the strange beauty of it.

He absent-mindedly thinks that he might be the only person currently alive who ever lays eyes on a Basilisk and tells the tale – and really, he’s still not completely convinced of that – but it’s gone as soon as a low chuckle is thundering through the room.

It’s only now that he spares a look for his surroundings, the high ceiling and flickering torches, high columns and statues carved from stone. It’s all washed in green lights, reflecting in puddles of water, and he thinks if it wasn’t in such a bad state, it would be beautiful.

_$Impressive, isn’t it?$_ the Basilisk says, pulling his attention back to her _. $I smell someone else on you, a friend?$_

Atana is still hiding deep within his robes but moves upon being addressed, lifting her head carefully.

_$It’s beautiful,$_ he says truthfully, thinking that it wouldn’t be smart to disregard the praise to her master when he was warned that she’s not completely sane. _$This is Atana, my familiar. What’s your name?$_

_$My Master named me Hela, many years ago.$_

Well, if that isn’t fitting, half-goddess of hell in Nordic mythology. He smiles a bit and bows his head. _$A very fitting name. Is it true that these were his quarters?$_

As beautiful as it is, he can’t really imagine this as a living space, if he’s honest.

Hela makes a few hissing noises he doesn’t understand, and he eyes her warily, but she calms down quickly. _$In a sense. The Chamber holds many secrets, and only that worthy discover them all.$_

That – that has to be a joke, right? The Chamber of Secrets holds many secrets? Instead of voicing that, he simply nods. _$Would it be acceptable for me to look around?$_

_$You may,$_ she says imperiously, already turning away from him and he breathes a soft sigh of relief. He really prefers Atana over slightly unhinged Basilisks.

He slowly walks around the huge room, already cataloguing the numerous engravings of snakes in the walls and on some of the columns but decides to look further into them at a later point. That alone already takes more time than he anticipated, and when he casts a Tempus, he startles at the fact that dinner starts in 5 minutes.

After a quick but polite goodbye to Hela, he makes sure to close the heavy door behind him and hurries through the tunnel. It only then hits him that he has no idea how to get back up through that bloody pipe.

Remembering the simple commands until now, he decides to try his luck the same way – if it doesn’t work, he can still ask Death.

_$Stairs,$_ actually does the trick though and he barely keeps from hitting his head against the wall for not thinking of that earlier. It’s that moment when he has another epiphany – if nobody, in centuries, discovered where the Chamber is, or that it even exists at all, it’s more than likely that there are no monitoring wards here.

He arrives in the Great Hall 5 minutes late and out of breath, and quickly sits down between Blaise and Theo.

“Where were you the whole afternoon?” Blaise asks with a pointed look and he grimaces when he notices the state of his robes.

“I needed some time to myself, I was out on the grounds,” he says smoothly, muttering a quick Cleaning Charm under his breath.

“What, are you missing home, Potter?” Draco sneers from down the table, contempt colouring his voice.

He’s a bit taken aback by the comment. It’s the first time Draco actually addresses him directly since the try-outs, but he merely raises an eyebrow at him, not deigning that with an answer.

Of course, nearly everyone in Slytherin, and probably the other houses as well, knows that they had a fall-out and what happened at the Quidditch pitch, so there are already curious eyes lingering on the two of them as soon as Draco opened his mouth.

He obviously notices that too, because he refrains from saying anything else. His position in the house is a bit complicated right now – he’s still the Malfoy heir, but it’s also clear that he fucked up his own position and so most of the Slytherins mostly ignore him, except for Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle.

He sighs inaudibly to himself and then shakes the thoughts. It’s not like it’s his fault, after all.

When they’re back in the common room he takes a quick shower and then ponders for a few minutes if he really should write to Tom already or let him stew for a little longer.

But he can feel the slight discomfort of his involuntary promise tugging at him and he really wants to talk about the Chamber, so he grumbles a bit and then pulls out the diary.

**Hey Tom, how are you doing?**

_ Hello Hadrian, you came back quick. _

He snorts and rolls his eyes.

**Not like you gave me much of a choice there. Sure, I could have dragged it out if I wanted to but what good would that do?  
Besides, I was down in the Chamber – it’s rather gloomy there, isn’t it? And Hela didn’t seem that mad, though I only spoke to her shortly.**

_ Well, I’d say I’m sorry, but I would be lying so I spare you that – I think you wouldn’t believe me, anyway.  
And yes, it’s rather obvious that not many people were down there over the last centuries. She’s not completely mad but – let’s just say, a few hundred years of solitude aren’t the best, for any creature, I suppose. _

He can’t help the small grin at Tom’s blunt admission. He should have paid more attention anyway, not letting his excitement get the better of him, and he just vows to be more careful from now on.

**I really wouldn’t.  
You’re probably right, I think nothing sentient is supposed to live that long. Which brings me to a question – do you know how it’s actually possible that she does? Even with long periods of hibernation, it shouldn’t be possible.**

Twirling his quill between his fingers he watches as the ink sinks into the page, still a bit fascinated by the process.

_ It’s a combination of a specific ritual Salazar invented and some adjusted Preservation Spells. There are notations in his personal notes, I’m sure you’ll find them eventually. It’s a rather intriguing piece of magic if you’re interested in that kind of thing. _

**Sounds fascinating. I suppose you won’t tell me where I can find those notes?**

_ Now that would be boring. _

He snorts, the statement reminding him a bit of Death’s infamous ‘Now where would be the fun in that?’ – not that he would ever tell his companion that.

_ Did you see much of the Chamber already? And how is school treating you? _

Tilting his head, he ponders for a moment if Tom is seriously attempting idle conversation here, but doesn’t find many issues with it and eventually decides to humour him. Sure, it’s most likely a way to paint a bigger picture of him, but it might get him some harmless information in return that serves the same purpose.

**I only walked around the main Chamber, I didn’t feel inclined to explain why I missed dinner.  
School is – well. The lessons are still rather boring, but between homework, Quidditch training, my personal studies, and my friends, I don’t get bored. I’d ask how it’s going for you, but I suppose you don’t have much to do in there, do you?**

He still doesn’t have a real idea of how Tom spends his time, how the communication between them even works, but while not knowing irks him, he’s a bit too proud to ask directly.

_ I never understood the appeal of Quidditch. What are you currently doing in your personal studies?  
I don’t know if you’re aware of how Occlumency works, but it’s a bit like a mind-scape in here, so I have books I already read and remembered at my disposal. Even with knowing their content, it keeps the boredom at bay, mostly. _

That actually… makes a lot of sense, he thinks, satisfied that his question was answered so quickly. He doesn’t think that Tom missed it though.

**Fascinating, but still not something I’d consider doing, to be honest.  
I mostly practice duelling, and my aunt regularly sends me books about rituals and subjects that aren’t covered in the Hogwarts curriculum– and of course, the Hogwarts library is rather extensive. I’m doing some research for Potions as well, let’s call it a continuation of theories my mother looked into, in her time. **

_ ‘Rituals and subjects that aren’t covered in the Hogwarts curriculum’ – interesting code for the darker arts.  _

He grins – he would have been a bit disappointed if Tom didn’t catch that.

_ So, the stance on them remains the same as 50 years ago?  _

**Seeing that Dumbledore is the Headmaster, that shouldn’t be much of a surprise.**

_ One can hope, no matter how foolish that notion is.  
Seeing that you’re the Black heir, your interests aren’t much of a surprise either, though the Potters were a light family in my time.  _

**Well, all branches of magic have their value and I don’t restrict myself to only one of them.**  
**Anyway, as nice as this is, I’m going to bed now. I have training tomorrow morning. Goodnight.**

* * *

The next weeks fly by rather quickly, and he’s so busy that he only manages to sneak off to the Chamber a few times.

It’s a week before the first Quidditch game when he’s making his way to the bathroom after classes when Death informs him that Draco is following him.

He frowns and ponders if he should confront him about it – somehow, over the last few weeks, Draco became more and more obnoxious and he’s pretty sure that he’d hex the git if he confronts him.

But he’s tired and doesn’t feel like having that whole drama right now, so he walks past the bathroom and quickens his pace a bit, before slipping into an alcove and pulling out his Invisibility Cloak.

At one point he’ll have to solve the whole issue, but he’d actually prefer if Draco were the one to throw the first hex, it would save him from any accusation and subsequent trouble.

He watches as Draco walks past him, looking from left to right and cursing under his breath, before turning around and disappearing down the stairs. Sure, he’ll probably guess now that there’s something around here – he became weirdly curious about where Hadrian spends his time alone – but it’s not like he’ll be able to find the Chamber.

Myrtle likes him well enough and he’s sure she won’t give him away, so he just sighs and enters the bathroom.

He comes to regret all this dearly a few days later.

They’re in the library doing their homework when there’s a commotion at the door of loud students. He catches a few scraps of conversation, “Hospital Wing,” and “Nobody knows what happened,” and already disregards the whole matter – it’s not that unusual that students are hexing each other in the halls, especially this shortly before the first Quidditch match – but then somebody says, “Petrification,” and he freezes.

In the same moment, Death softly clears his throat within his mind – or whatever it is he does to produce that low, rumbling sound – and he has to fight very hard to not let his sudden nervousness show.

There’s a foreboding feeling of dread coiling in his stomach, his heart is racing and he doesn’t even know _why_ because there should be no actual reason to worry – the diary is safe within Death’s book at the bottom of his trunk, the last time he visited the Chamber Hela didn’t even come out to talk to him, and he always double checks that he closes everything – but somehow, he just knows that something went wrong.

_“We have a problem, little one,”_ Death says within his head, and he pulls one of his books closer to pretend he’s reading, ducking his head to hide his face behind his hair.

_“I gathered. Please, just tell me what happened?”_

_“Apparently, the Basilisk decided was bored and left the Chamber. We both didn’t consider that not only you are able to open and close the doors with Parseltongue, much less that she could act on her own accord.”_

He feels the blood drain from his face and clenches his fingers around the book to hide the immediate tremble, swallowing a few times to force himself to keep listening.

_“Draco was lingering in front of the bathroom and got petrified, but the Basilisk disappeared back into the Chamber. You can’t go right now, but later we’ll have to put it back into hibernation.”_

_“Shit, that’s – Merlin…”_ he doesn’t know what else to say but probably doesn’t have to. Death knows him well enough and there’s not much he can do now, anyway.

Turning a page, he keeps staring at the book, but the words are swimming in front of his eyes and he has to focus to keep his breathing even. No matter their recent differences, he would have never wished this to happen to Draco. Or anyone.

A sudden thought strikes him and he clenches his jaw. Did Tom know that this could happen? Is this why he lost control the last time?

Thankfully, his friends are too immersed in their own work to notice his agitation, the last thing he needs right now is Blaise questioning him, and he sighs in relief when they leave the library an hour later and they buy his excuse of being tired.

The Slytherin common room is more busy than usual, the nervousness palpable in the air, but the voices die down when they enter and more than one student eyes him warily.

It takes him longer than he cares to admit to comprehend why – his fight with Draco is no secret, especially in Slytherin, and there have been murmurs over the last days how long it would take him to snap under Draco’s teasing and insults.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he ignores the stares and whispers and follows Theo into their dorm, falling face-first onto the bed. Blaise stayed behind to ‘find out what’s going on,’ because it’s not like he could tell them without explaining how he knows already.

It doesn’t take Blaise long to come after them, and he looks unusually serious and tense when he explains what Hadrian already knows.

“Some of them think you had something to do with it. I told them that we were in the library together the whole afternoon, but I don’t think that all of them buy that as a legitimate excuse. Idiots,” Blaise sneers, but his worry is obvious.

“I wonder what happened though, I mean it has to be rather serious if the teachers couldn’t simply undo the Petrification,” Theo says, brows furrowed and a hand running through his hair.

He sits up and lets Atana curl up in his lap. “Yes, that’s true. Let’s just hope they figure it out soon and that it’s nothing that leaves lasting damage,” he says, paying great attention to control his voice.

It’s not even a lie – he has no idea how harmful this could be. Draco must have only seen a reflection; and isn’t he grateful for _that_ , he would never be able to hold it together if he actually died. Still, this is all a nightmare and he curses himself for overlooking the possibility of the Basilisk leaving on her own.

He wants to write to Tom, to find out if he knew that this could happen and has half a mind to destroy the bloody diary on the spot if he did, but it would be suspicious if he withdraws himself right now.

They keep talking for a while, speculating and trying to assert to what the newfound suspicion of him could lead, but it costs him a lot of strength to pay attention and not let on how guilty he feels, so he’s glad when Theo shuts his curtains to read and he can follow suit.

It’s even worse, being unable to talk to his friends about this, but it’s not like he can admit that it’s basically his fault. He doesn’t exactly think that they would rat him out, but for one there’s still the whole issue with Theo’s father which makes anything he lets him know a potential risk, and then he simply feels horrible and also, kind of ashamed.

Not to mention that there’s no reasonable explanation for how he discovered the Chamber in the first place.

He shouldn’t overlook risks like this one, and wonders if he actually got too confident over the last months. First Tom getting a promise out of him with a simple trick which, granted, is nothing compared to _this_ , but nonetheless, both could have been prevented if he had been more careful.

Sighing, he pulls out the diary and flips open a random page.

**Did you know that Hela could leave on her own accord?  
You just told me to not let her out, but a student got petrified today because she just left.**

He’d like to start cursing Tom on the spot but thinks that wouldn’t be all that helpful.

_ What? No, she never did that. She sometimes disobeyed me when I let her out but never left on her own, it’s against her standing orders.  
She must have gone even more insane than 50 years ago. _

If he’s honest, he would like to accuse Tom of lying right now – not that it would change anything, but at least he would have someone else to blame besides himself. At the same time, he’s rather glad that Tom didn’t keep it from him on purpose, and that he can be sure that Tom can’t lie to him.

**Shit. Merlin, this is such a disaster. Do you know how I put her back into hibernation?  
I can’t risk having her roam around the school. And do you know if I can put her to sleep and still enter the Chamber without waking her up again?**

To Tom’s credit, his answers come quickly and without any demands of answered questions in return. Otherwise, he might have gone back to his impulse to burn the bloody thing.

_ Yes, there’s a study at the far-left side, there are two Cobras engraved into the column. In there, there should be a book on the desk with instructions for the spell. It’s a combination of runes and spellwork. I left it there when I visited the Chamber for the last time.  
It’s complicated though, I don’t know if you can really manage that already? _

He clenches his jaw and clothes his eyes for a few moments, breathing deeply.

**It’s not like I have a choice. Anyway, thanks. Anything else I need to know?**

_ No, I don’t think so. She should stay asleep even if you keep going down there, there’s an addition to the spell you can use that will make her wake up again only if somebody new comes down. _

Well, that’s more than he could have hoped for.

**Thanks, Tom. Gotta go and take care of that disaster. Bye!**

Snapping the book shut, he flops back and throws an arm over his eyes. It’s still too early to sneak back there, it’s bound to be overrun by teachers right now, but he doesn’t have the headspace to talk to Tom, and reading is also out of the question.

Casting a Tempus, he’s relieved to see that he still has an hour until curfew and quickly slips out of bed again, throws on some sweatpants and a jumper and goes for a run. He’s going to need a clear head tonight.

* * *

With some help from Death, the spell works perfectly, and Hadrian already feels a bit calmer, now that he can be sure that nobody else is going to turn up petrified or dead.

There’s a part of him that wants to visit Draco in the hospital wing, but he doesn’t think it would be a good idea. Half of Slytherin is still convinced that he’s involved in the whole matter – not that they’re _wrong_ but he didn’t do it on _purpose_ , for Merlin’s sake – and those who do eye him warily.

The only advantage is that all those upper years that didn’t hide their dislike of him suddenly decided to treat him with a bit more respect, and even Flint stops snapping at him. No matter how misguided, he enjoys the newfound peace too much to bother trying to correct them, and he throws himself into schoolwork, Quidditch training, and duelling to distract himself from the rest.

He stays clear of the Chamber for now though. Not only is the guilt still gnawing at him, but he also remembered that Dumbledore was around when the same thing happened 50 years ago, and according to Tom, the Headmaster suspected him at the time – the only one, but Hadrian has no desire to get under closer scrutiny than he already is.

The first Quidditch match of the season finally comes, the morning looking bright and cold when he and his friends enter the Great Hall. The atmosphere between the students is tense and he couldn’t deny that he’s nervous even if he wanted to.

Blaise is bouncing next to him, for once already wide awake, and it feels like no time passed at all when Flint commands them down to the locker rooms. The world around him feels muted, fading in and out of his awareness and he mechanically goes through changing and warming up, only getting the gist of Flint’s motivational speech.

Even with the whole Petrification incident, he knows what awaits him if he doesn’t manage to catch the snitch first, and while he might not get thrown out of the team, he’s not keen to keep getting insulted until the next game.

Finally getting on his broom is an instant relief, all the nervousness and anticipation falling off of him and staying on the ground behind him, and he can’t help the bright grin when they fly their round around the pitch.

His gaze falls onto the teacher box and he spots 5 black heads, eyes widening in surprise when he realises that the whole Black clan is there. They didn’t tell him that they would come, and it makes warmth spread through his chest that he didn’t feel since Draco was found.

Shaking his head, he focuses back on his teammates and touches down behind them, watching as Hooch gives her instructions and Flint and Wood shake hands – and then they’re off.

Slytherin instantly takes possession of the Quaffle, but the Gryffindor Chasers are good and well in sync, their Beaters are probably better than the Slytherins and Wood is a good Keeper – all in all, the teams are pretty evenly matched, the only weak link in the Gryffindor team is their Seeker. Which is why he really needs to be the one to catch the bloody Snitch.

He tunes out Jordan’s pretty prejudiced commentary and draws his eyes away from the game, instead focusing on circling the pitch above everyone and slowly scanning the area.

They’re maybe 15 minutes into the game when he barely avoids getting hit by a Bludger, and it doesn’t take long to realise that one of the bloody nuisances is following him.

Figures that there would be some drama during his first game.

Putting on some speed, he weaves around while still looking for the Snitch. The Beaters do their best, but it becomes obvious quickly that the Bludger must have been tampered with.

Eventually, even Flint notices and calls a time-out, and Hadrian catches the worried looks of Regulus and the other Blacks when he touches down, barely jumping out of the way before getting a nasty hit to the head.

Hooch doesn’t find anything though, which only makes him more suspicious – not that he has any idea who could be responsible. Before he has time to ask Death, Hooch blows her whistle to restart the match.

Sighing, he resigns himself to doing it this way – he gestures for Derrick to return to the game, shouting, “It’s enough if Bole tries to tail me, keep a look on the others!” before turning his broom around and flying higher. It stands 100 to 80 for Gryffindor, and he doesn’t think Flint would forgive him if they lose because of this, no matter if it’s his fault or not.

It doesn’t take long for the Bludger to close in on him again and he has to do more flips, barrel rolls and risky manoeuvres in short succession than ever before, but with some help from Bole, who actually looks _worried_ by now, he somehow manages to not get his head smashed.

It’s during a sideway-roll that he notices a short, golden flicker across the pitch and he instantly whips his broom around, eyes glued to the little ball. Due to his manic flying for the last 10 minutes, the Gryffindor Seeker doesn’t pick up on his chase for longer than he probably would have otherwise, which is just enough time for him to cross the distance between them.

The Snitch flies erratically, weaving between the other players and he tries to use his course to lead the wayward Bludger into the Gryffindor Chasers.

He grimaces when it flies over the stands, hoping that there won’t be any casualties but also unwilling to risk their win, and he’s slowly gaining ground.

He dives, only a few feet from the Snitch now and a quick look shows him that his opponent fell a bit behind, probably unwilling to risk his own head with the Bludger that is still aiming for him, and he leans a bit lower over his broom, trying to squeeze out the last amount of speed, and stretches out his arm.

His victorious whoop as soon as his fingers close around the little nuisance turns into a groan of pain within a second, when the Bludger finally gets his elbow, and the sudden, unexpected impact knocks him off his broom.

It’s lucky that the catch was close to the ground, but it still knocks the air out of him and he barely avoids another hit to the head by rolling to the side.

A loud bang makes him jump, the Bludger blasted into a thousand little pieces, but there are already too many people gathering around him to see who did the honours.

To his horror, it’s Lockhart who reaches him first, and he’s in too much pain, the adrenaline already wearing off, to successfully protest when the incompetent fool pulls his wand. Blaise, bless him, tries to prevent the disaster, but it’s already too late and he can only stare in horror at his suddenly limp arm.

“Who do you think you are?!” the quiet but commanding voice of Arcturus is easy to hear despite all the noise, and even Lockhart stiffens, slowly turning around and facing the intimidating man.

It’s easy to forget just who his family is, right until a situation like this one, where all of them stand next to each other, tall and imposing, contempt written all over their faces. Even Sirius is ever the Black right now, only his trembling hands at his sides betraying his agitation, and Hadrian takes a moment to appreciate the united front they present.

“Well – I – you see,” Lockhart stammers, cowering and taking a few steps back. He doesn’t get very far, Derrick, Pucey, and Flint blocking his way, and Hadrian would rub his hands together gleefully if he actually could. Granted, the sudden support of his team-mates is most likely due to their respect for the Blacks, but maybe they’ll finally understand that _he_ is a Black as well. It would do them some good.

None of the Blacks say anything, but their expressions speak words and the silence between the little group is so tense you could probably cut it. He’s just glad that at least his arm doesn’t hurt anymore because he wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.

It lasts a few seconds before Regulus throws one last glare at Lockhart and kneels down next to him, worry suddenly clear in his eyes.

Before he can say anything, Dumbledore arrives at the scene, laying a hand on Lockhart’s shoulder. “Now Gentleman – “

Cassiopeia clears her throat pointedly and raises a brow.

“And Ladies, of course. I don’t think this is necessary, Gilderoy only wanted to help,” Dumbledore says, and even with his back turned, Hadrian knows exactly that he’s sporting that condescending, grandfatherly smile and twinkle.

Arcturus’ expression doesn’t change, but to his surprise, it’s Sirius who speaks first. “I don’t think the actual intent matters much, seeing that your teacher just worsened my godson’s condition significantly. I hope you don’t think that this can go without consequences.”

“Exactly,” Lucretia speaks up, narrowing her eyes at the duo. “Instead of a quick spell, this will probably be a whole night of Skele-Gro, and I don’t even want to get into the matter of competence in your teachers.”

Dumbledore’s shoulders tense ever so slightly and Lockhart still doesn’t say anything, but Regulus is nudging him softly and he turns his head to look at him.

“Come on, you should get to the hospital wing. Congratulations to your first win though, the final score was 310 to 180!” he grins, and hugs an arm around him to help him up.

He staggers a bit and Blaise is next to his other side in a second. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters under his breath, throwing another glare in Lockhart’s direction.

Hadrian smiles to himself. He would have liked to see how this turns out, but he can’t deny that he feels rather faint and besides, knows that there’s no sense in arguing with Regulus and Blaise.

Madame Pomfrey looks at him disapprovingly but gets him into bed quickly. The whole Slytherin team arrives a few minutes later and while he wouldn’t call them exactly friendly, their congratulations and slight worry seem genuine enough.

Shortly after, Arcturus, Cassiopeia, Lucretia, and Sirius walk in and after the whole team greeted them respectfully, they get chased out by Madame Pomfrey.

“How do you feel?” Lucretia asks, carefully picking up his arm.

“I can’t believe that idiot, what did he think he was doing? I had half a mind to curse him,” Cassiopeia says with so much contempt that he thinks only the presence of the whole school actually kept her from doing so.

“I’m alright,” he says, and it’s not even a lie. Granted, having no bones in his arm is a rather strange experience but at least it doesn’t hurt, and he’s happy about having all of them here. “What happened with Lockhart and Dumbledore though?”

Sirius discretely throws up a Privacy Charm and conjures chairs for all of them around his bed, plopping down next to Regulus. Not only was that rather impressive spell work, but it’s also curious that the atmosphere between Sirius and Regulus seems much more relaxed than before the start of school.

“Dumbledore insisted to drop the matter because nothing _bad_ happened – “ Sirius sneers, and it’s such a foreign expression on his face that Hadrian can’t help his amused grin. “Which I find highly debatable. We can issue a complaint with the Board of Governors though, together with what you write about Lockhart’s general competence, an investigation might lead to something.”

He tilts his head and looks at all of them. Most people would probably not see it, but after spending a whole summer in their company, he can spot the signs of anger in their expressions.

Arcturus' eyes are hard, Cassiopeia’s lips are pressed together and Lucretia keeps herself busy with checking him over.

“Well,” Arcturus speaks up for the first time, and there’s a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I think Dumbledore will be rather surprised when he discovers that I will join the Board at their next session.”

He knows that the surprise has to be obvious on his face but he’s too tired to hide his expression right now, and it’s not like it matters around them. “Really? But how?”

“The conditions are rather complicated, but one of them is that a member of the Board must have a child in school, and seeing that you are the heir, we do have that. Everything else is covered, so I arranged to be appointed,” Arcturus explains, looking very satisfied with himself.

Once again, he marvels at this family; They’re back for less than half a year, and already in numerous important positions. He knows that Lucretia doesn’t work in St. Mungo’s just for the sake of it, next to the Ministry and Hogwarts it’s one of the most important institutions of the British wizarding world.

Arcturus and Regulus are both firmly connected in the Ministry, especially with the post as Chief Warlock and Regulus’ job in the Department of Mysteries; only Merlin knows what Cassiopeia is doing but he doesn’t doubt for a second that she has her own means, and now Hogwarts – he can only hope to achieve this level of productiveness one day.

Not to mention that it’s a rather comforting thought to have some influence on the school that is not Dumbledore and his lackeys.

He yawns and can’t help his tiredness despite the good news.

“That was fantastic flying you did, ignoring the end. Though I’d really like to know what that bloody Bludger was up to, that’s not normal,” Sirius says, looking pensive.

The others murmur in agreement, and Cassiopeia says, “I’ll look into that. And it really was a good game, though I don’t understand how they could not have noticed the tempering.”

“Indeed, but you managed it very well,” Arcturus says with a nod. “On a different note, do you know why the Malfoy heir is here? I met Lucius earlier, saying he’s visiting his son?”

He’s not quick enough to hide his wince and is sure that none of them missed it. “I’m surprised the news didn’t get out yet, he was petrified, and they need Mandrake leaves for the potion to reverse it. They don’t know how it happened,” he says, because while he doesn’t think that they would make a fuss – except Sirius, maybe – there’s no way for him to explain how he found the Chamber in the first place, regardless of how much he hates lying to them.

He’s going to explain it to Regulus, but not here. There’s no Privacy Charm he trusts enough to risk that.

“I wonder if the Board was informed,” Arcturus says, frowning. “But I think you should sleep now, otherwise Lucretia might Charm you.”

The woman in question merely smiles, confirming that statement. “I’m sure Madame Pomfrey will take good care of you,” she says, getting up.

Only Regulus stays where he is, and at his questioning look raises a brow. “You didn’t think we’d all leave, right?”

He smiles in gratitude and says goodbye to the rest of them.

Madame Pomfrey promptly comes over to give him some potions and he grimaces at the taste of the Skele-Gro. It doesn’t take long until he falls asleep, one hand securely in Regulus’ and, for now, all worries about Basilisks, Draco, Quidditch, and rough Bludgers forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, yes. Never trust a Basilisk? :D


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your feedback! <3

He startles awake and for a moment, is utterly disoriented, only just remembering that he’s in the Hospital Wing. His first instinct is to look for Regulus, who’s sleeping with his head lying on his arms crossed on the bed. Then he remembers that something woke him up and looks around, barely biting back a shout of surprise when his eyes fall on a house-elf sitting at his feet.

It takes another few moments to realise that he knows that elf. “Hey, you’re the one who tried breaking into Grimmauld Place! What the hell are you doing here?” he hisses, rubbing his eyes and pulling himself up into a sitting position, careful to not wake Regulus.

His arm hurts something fierce now and he thinks that he can’t have slept for very long.

Dobby is pulling on his ears and trembling slightly, and he instantly feels sorry for his harsh tone. Maybe he’s just here because of Draco, it sounds like something Lucius Malfoy would do.

“Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter Sir! Dobby didn’t mean to have Harry Potter hurt but –“

“Wait,” he interrupts, one hand instinctively grabbing Dobby’s arm. The pieces are slowly falling into place and he narrows his eyes. “You were the one who cursed the Bludger! That’s why nobody could find out who did it, the idiots didn’t check for house-elf magic!”

Considering that he didn’t remember to keep his voice down, it’s not much of a surprise that Regulus stirs and lifts his head, blinking blearily at him. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” he asks with a worried frown, eyes roaming over him and completely missing the still trembling elf on the bed.

“I’m fine. Well, mostly, anyway,” he says and tilts his head in Dobby’s direction who he still keeps a tight grip on. There’s a high chance that he could just apparate away if he wanted to, but somehow it makes him feel better.

Regulus looks confused and he remembers that he didn’t meet Dobby the last time.

“This is the elf from the Malfoys,” he says with a pointed look. “You know, the one that got caught in your wards during summer, tried to convince me to not return to Hogwarts, and promised to not intervene again.”

“Dobby is very sorry, he is!” the elf wails and Regulus has the presence of mind to throw up another Silencing Charm. “Bad things are happening, very bad!”

“Oh Merlin, you – “ he breathes, understanding dawning on him. “You think that because Draco got petrified, right?”

“Alright, what’s going on?” Regulus demands, narrowing his eyes at the elf and crossing his arms. It would have been more intimidating if his hair wasn’t standing up at one side and he didn’t have creases from the blanket imprinted into one cheek, but it does seem to do the job with Dobby, who cowers even more than he already did.

He feels a burst of sympathy over his annoyance and sighs, letting go of Dobby’s arm.

“He was the one who cursed the Bludger,” he says, putting his hand on Regulus’ arm to keep him from reacting before he can finish his explanation. “Remember that he warned me about Malfoy trying to smuggle the diary into Hogwarts?”

Regulus tilts his head and nods slowly. “Yeah, but why would he curse a Bludger to try killing you?”

“Dobby didn’t mean to kill Harry Potter, Sir! Just wanting to make sure Harry Potter has to go home, maybe! Nothing can happen –“

He raises his hand to stop his rambling and sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it here, but remember how Draco is petrified?”

Regulus frowns, obviously thinking and still glaring slightly at Dobby.

“Alright, I can see how that’s not enough information to piece it together but – let’s just say I did something a _little_ stupid and Dobby here now thinks that Malfoy’s plan worked, so he thought by getting me out of the school, he was doing something good for me, regardless of his rather questionable methods. Is that it, Dobby?” he directs his question at the elf who nods wildly.

“So, let me get this straight,” Regulus says, looking between the two of them. “You heard that Lucius planned something for Hogwarts and warned Har about it over the summer, against direct orders. He told you he would handle it and you left him alone, but when Draco turned up petrified, you thought it wasn’t under control and, again, against direct orders, you decided your best chance to intervene was to curse a Bludger in a way that could have killed him?”

Dobby’s nodding is far less enthusiastic by now and he softly squeezes Regulus' shoulder, who sags a bit in his chair and sighs.

“I wonder when wizards are finally going to believe me when I tell them to not underestimate house-elves,” he mutters under his breath and then directs his glare at Hadrian. “And you, you did something stupid?”

Wincing at the reminder as well as the tone, he runs a hand through his hair. “Probably not as bad as you think right now but I would really prefer to tell you about that when we’re home over Yule.”

Regulus grumbles a bit but eventually nods, failing to hide the twitching of the corner of his mouth. “Okay but seeing that Dobby went back on his promise to not intervene the last time, we need to think of something to stop him from ‘helping’ you again,” he says.

“Dobby is being sorry, please, Harry Potter Sir, please don’t tell my Master.“ He’s trembling worse than he did up until now, eyes wide with fear and swimming with tears and Regulus winces in sympathy.

“Am I right in the assumption that the Malfoys treat their elves rather horribly?” he murmurs under his breath, anger simmering under his skin at the idea which only gets worse when Regulus nods.

“Yeah, mostly Lucius but that’s probably enough. I wonder…” he trails off, looking pensive again and Hadrian lets him think, focusing on trying to reassure Dobby that they won’t rat him out.

“Dobby,” Regulus says eventually, sitting up a bit straighter and smirking slightly. “There’s an old Pureblood law that says if a house-elf causes harm to a wizard that isn’t their Master without being ordered to or in defence of their family, the harmed person has two options, depending on the severity of the damage. One is the demand that the elf is punished, the other would be the extradition of the elf. Did you ever hear about it?”

Dobby nods hesitantly, looking at Hadrian for reassurance who can only shrug. It’s the first time he ever heard of that, but figures that the old Purebloods would have some archaic laws for these kinds of things. He has a suspicion where Regulus might be going with this, though.

“Considering that you tried to harm the heir of four important families and succeeded, the latter option might be applicable. Obviously, we wouldn’t do this to punish you afterwards, but you’d be free of the Malfoy’s – If that is something you want?” Regulus continues, keeping his eyes on Dobby who looks rather overwhelmed.

“Would – Would Dobby be an elf of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, then?” he asks, his voice still shaky and his long, bony fingers fiddling with the ratty pillowcase he’s wearing.

“Well,” Regulus says, smiling softly. “If you would like to? You could also be freed, but most elves find the idea distasteful. No matter which you choose, you would have to make a binding promise to not try saving Har again with any methods that might harm him, though I appreciate the length you went to for trying to keep him safe.”

For the first time ever since he met the slightly unhinged elf, there’s something like hope and joy visible in his expression and he feels another pang of sympathy and also, anger.

“Dobby would like that very much, Sir! Dobby knows many elves don’t like being free but…” he trails off, uncertainty crossing his eyes like he’s not sure that they’re not going to judge him if he admits that he would actually like that.

Regulus seems to see the same thing because his expression softens further and his voice is kind when he says, “If you’d like to be free that is fine Dobby. You could go your own way, or you could work for us in exchange for payment. It’s your choice.”

“Sir’s are too kind!” Dobby suddenly wails again, throwing himself forward and hugging Hadrian’s knees who has to stifle a laugh. This is going to drive Kreacher absolutely mental, he can already see it.

Regulus looks just as amused and they let him calm down in his own time. When he finally does, Regulus turns serious again and says, “The only catch is that you will have to admit to Lord Malfoy what you did. Mind you, in our presence so he won’t get a chance to punish you again, but it’s not completely unavoidable. Do you think you can do that?”

Not for the first time does he smile at the huge soft spot Regulus has for house-elves. Not that he doesn’t understand, even if he doubts that he knows even half of the reasons for that, but it’s just one of those little things he values so much about him.

Dobby is so obviously scared that it’s painful to watch but regardless of his fear, resolution and anticipation seem to be stronger and he eventually agrees.

“Good,” Regulus nods, satisfaction and a little glee shining through his eyes. “I think Lucius will visit Draco tomorrow, then I’m going to confront him about it. I’m sure he will call you instantly and we can settle the matter. You should get back now, and remember – no more attempts at saving Har that involve him getting hurt, alright?!”

“Of course, Mister Regulus Black, Sir! Good night, Sirs! Dobby will be a good elf!” he squeals, voice even higher than usual and then quickly pops away.

For a moment, they both stare at the spot where he vanished, still a bit bewildered at what just happened.

“I got attacked by a house-elf,” he groans eventually, flopping back against the bed and sending Regulus a mock-glare when he chuckles. “I know, I know. Never underestimate a house-elf. Didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, kiddo,” Regulus smiles, ruffling his hair but then sobers. “Are you really sure you can’t tell me what happened, though?”

Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth he ponders it for a moment but shakes his head. “I really want to, don’t get me wrong, and I know that theoretically, a Privacy Charm is mostly safe, but no. I would rather wait.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Regulus says, curling up in his chair again. “It’s probably the more responsible thing. Just tell me – you’re not in trouble, are you? Besides over-protective house-elves, I mean?”

“No, I already took care of it,” he says, turning onto his side and smiling softly. “I can’t wait to see Malfoy’s face though.”

Regulus’ grin matches his own but they’re both still tired and it doesn’t take long until he’s asleep again.

* * *

The next morning, Madame Pomfrey wakes him with another batch of potions and checks over his arm. “The bones are all grown back, but I’m going to keep you here for another few hours for observation,” she says, face stern like she expects him to protest.

To be fair, he probably would have if not for the fact that there’s no chance in hell that he’s going to miss Lucius Malfoy losing one of his elves to them. It’s already hard to hide his excitement as it is but he keeps his face blank, casts his eyes down and nods, feigning resignation.

Thankfully, they don’t have to wait long until the Malfoy Lord struts into the Hospital Wing like he owns the place and he exchanges a look with Regulus. They both share a rather intense dislike for the man but usually avoid antagonising him too much, seeing that he’s the husband of Regulus’ cousin and also at least a loose political alley. That doesn’t mean they’re not going to enjoy this.

They let him visit Draco first, but he doesn’t stay there long, disappearing into Madame Pomfrey’s office after barely 5 minutes.

They just finished breakfast when he comes out again and Hadrian has to stifle a laugh at the obviously fake, pleasant expression Regulus pulls up as soon as he does.

“Lucius, a word?” he asks, standing up and gesturing him over.

Malfoy makes a face like he would rather be at a hundred different places right now, not that it’s much of a surprise, but strides over anyway, chin raised haughtily.

“Regulus, Hadrian. I heard about your little accident – terrible thing, I hope you feel better?” he asks, looking down his nose and tapping his cane against the linoleum floor.

Inclining his head, he keeps his voice even when he says, “Yes, thank you, Lord Malfoy.”

“I guess not everybody can be born with a talent for flying,” Malfoy sighs and he can see Regulus tense beside him ever so slightly.

It might have been more insulting if he didn’t beat Draco just a month ago, or if they weren’t about to throw that comment into his face more thoroughly than he could ever imagine.

“Actually,” Regulus says, his saccharine smile broadening and suddenly showing just a tad too many teeth. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? I’m not sure how I can be of assistance with that particular lack of skill,” Lucius sneers, and suddenly Draco’s attitude makes so much more sense.

He wonders how someone this blunt and unsubtle can celebrate himself as such a great Slytherin.

“You see, that’s where our opinions differ, Lucius,” Regulus says, smile dropping and eyes turning sharp. “I’m sure you heard that there were certain suspicions about a Bludger having been tampered with and we _just_ discovered a possible culprit.”

Surprise flashes over Malfoy’s face but is wiped away just as quickly, only a vaguely curious raised brow remaining. “Oh? And how am I supposed to help you with that?”

The slow smirk curling Regulus’ lips is anything but nice and at last, Lucius seems to realise that this situation is more serious than he anticipated, as he’s paling slightly and taking an unconscious step back.

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be too much of a bother,” Regulus says, and Hadrian has to cover his laugh with a cough. Honestly, this is peak-comedy material, he’s going to watch this memory in a pensive.  “We discovered that the origin of the magic came from a house-elf and, interestingly enough, that signature matches with one I found in my wards at Grimmauld Place over the summer.”

Lucius frowns, his sneer returning but before he can say anything, Regulus crosses his arms over his chest, leaning forward slightly. “I’m sure you have no idea how _surprised_ I was when Kreacher told me that it belonged to an elf he knows, an elf of yours? Do you have, by any chance, an elf named Dobby in your service, Lucius?”

Biting his tongue to not make a sound, he watches as Malfoy pales even further and then, his lips thin and his eyes narrow, comprehension dawning on his face.

“Dobby!” he bellows and instantly the little thing pops into the room, a safe distance away from Malfoy.

“He should be bound to tell the truth if you order him to, shouldn’t he?” Regulus prompts sweetly when Malfoy stays silent, probably trying to come up with a way out of this.

A muscle in his jaw twitches but he nods. “Dobby, did you curse a Bludger during the Quidditch game yesterday?” he grinds out, his knuckles turning white around his cane.

Dobby cowers but it’s impossible to mistake his nod for anything else. “Yes, Dobby did, Dobby is sorry, Sir!”

Regulus pointedly clears his throat, pulling the attention back to him. “Well – “

“I’d like to resolve this issue at home and offer my apologies,” Lucius interrupts him, already back to glowering at Dobby, who stares desperately at both of them.

Hadrian tries to send him a reassuring smile but feels like it doesn’t really reach its target.

“Actually,” Regulus says, steel creeping into his tone at being interrupted, “I had something different in mind.”

Malfoy’s head whips around like he forgot that they were still there. “And what?” he snaps, obviously not picking up on Regulus’ anger at him.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the custom to leave decisions about the appropriate punishment of a servant from a different family to the harmed party or, depending on the extent of the damage, the justified demand to extradite them?” Regulus asks with a raised brow, head tilted to the side.

“I – what – you don’t mean –“ Lucius stammers and Hadrian takes great pleasure in watching his expression go through disbelief, horror, and anger within seconds.

He doubts it’s about losing one of his elves, the Malfoys have more than enough of them. No, the real problem with this, and why it is such a severe punishment as Regulus explained earlier, is that when the loyalty of an elf changes, so do their orders – meaning that their new Masters can request them to give up any and all secrets of their previous owners.

It’s the reason why Kreacher could tell Regulus about the cave despite Voldemort’s orders, and Malfoy knows this if his expression is anything to go by.

“That’s _exactly_ what I mean. Anyone present at the match yesterday can attest to the danger your elf put my heir into, this could have very well ended in his death. I think making use of my right to demand that the elf is handed over is preferable to an official lawsuit against you? After all, there’s no way to prove that the elf didn’t act on your order – elves rarely do, don’t you think?” Regulus says, neither expression nor his tone leaving any room for doubt that it’s precisely what he’s going to do if Malfoy doesn’t comply.

He still seems to ponder it for a moment, probably considering which of the two options could do him more damage but seems to eventually come to the conclusion that his elf being questioned in front of the Ministry can only end worse.

“Very well,” he spits through clenched teeth, pulling his wand.

Both him and Regulus instantly tense, ready to pull their own wands within a second, but Lucius only lays it flat on his palm and says, “I, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, hereby proclaim this elf known as Dobby free of the service of the Malfoy family, transferring any and all rights towards the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. So I say it, so mote it be.”

For a few seconds, a golden thread between him and Dobby lights up before it fractures, only to rebuild itself between Dobby and Regulus.

Regulus expression instantly turns friendly, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Thank you, Lucius. Very kind of you.”

There’s a slight tremble in Malfoy’s hands and he takes a few measured breaths before he says, “May I inquire what your planned punishment is?”

Regulus turns towards him then, making a swiping gesture and he has to fight hard against his smirk. Taking the scarf he got for this earlier, he says, “Come here, Dobby?”

The elf doesn’t waste any time but still looks like he can’t really believe any of this is happening, repeatedly glancing at Malfoy and staying out of range from his cane.

Gritting his teeth against the anger, knowing that he’s getting his satisfaction within the next few minutes, he sits up straighter in his bed and holds out the scarf. “Dobby, per your own wishes, I declare you a free elf and offer you a paid, voluntary position as said free elf for the House of Black.”

While Dobby is bowing deeply over and over, babbling his thanks and promises to be a good elf, Hadrian doesn’t take his eyes off Malfoy for a second, who watches the whole interaction incredulously.

Then, an angry flush creeps over his cheeks and down his neck, he straightens up and keeps opening and closing his mouth, but no words come out.

Regulus’ hand lands on Hadrian’s shoulder and he tilts his head, smiling mildly. “That will be all, Lucius, or do you have any other requests? Maybe some attempts at bribery to keep our silence about a certain black diary you tried to slip a first-year over summer?”

Well, if that isn’t a marvellously well-placed threat of blackmail, he doesn’t know what is.

Malfoy keeps staring for another few moments before spinning on his heel and all but running out of the Hospital Wing.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, they both burst into laughter while Dobby looks between the two of them with obvious confusion. It’s probably hard to see any humour in the person who abused him for years, and the thought manages to sober him somewhat.

“It’s alright, Dobby, he can’t harm you anymore,” he says softly, patting him on the shoulder.

“Exactly,” Regulus says, smiling. “The first and most important rule I have for you – don’t punish yourself. Ever. Understood?”

“Dobby understands,” he says with a nod. “Dobby is being very thankful!”

“You’re welcome. I think it’s best if you stay with me at Grimmauld Place, but I want you to come if Hadrian ever calls you, alright?” Regulus adds, surprising him as well. It’s not like he really needs an elf at Hogwarts or like Kreacher wouldn’t come if he called, but it’s kind of nice anyway.

At least the whole disaster with the Bludger and losing all the bones in his arm has been good for something.

* * *

Regulus leaves soon after, needing to explain to Kreacher what’s going on, and Madame Pomfrey doesn’t find another reason to keep him either, so he returns to the dungeon with a skip in his step.

When he enters the common room, many students fall silent and he barely manages to stifle his groan. Figures that their stunt in the Infirmary wouldn’t stay a secret for very long, Malfoy probably complained to the first person he came across.

Ignoring the stares and whispers he retreats into his dorm, glad when he finds both Theo and Blaise there. He doesn’t get a chance to say more than hello though before Atana is on him, demanding an explanation and reassurance that he’s fine.

It takes him nearly five minutes to convince her to not eat their newly acquired house-elf as soon as they get home, and then he has to repeat the same story again for Theo’s and Blaise’s sake, but at least the two of them grasp just how hilarious it is.

“You know that this will only further the belief within the house that you’re out for revenge in regard to the Malfoys, right?” Theo says after they calmed down, fingers running over the spine of the book he has been reading.

Sighing, he shrugs. “It’s not like they’re going to believe otherwise, and at least it might drive the point home that nobody should insult me because of my blood status,” he says, scowling at the memory. Really, he’s rather sick of that.

“A true Slytherin,” Blaise grins, sighing theatrically with a hand over his heart and he throws a pillow in his direction, laughing when it hits him square in the face.

“Maybe they’ll even learn to apply that courtesy not only to me at some point,” he grumbles, ducking when Blaise throws the pillow back at him.

Atana hisses in annoyance when it hits her instead and he smirks smugly as Blaise quickly raises his hands in a placating manner.

“That hopeful, are you?” Blaise says, but understanding is clear in his eyes and Hadrian stubbornly ignores how Theo suddenly turned silent.

He knows that Theo really doesn’t think about him in that way any longer, that he wouldn’t stoop as low as Draco even if they had a fight and that his opinions are changing slowly, but well – keyword being _slowly_.

Flopping down onto his bed and letting Atana settle on his chest, he says, “Well, I still have more than five years left. I’ll manage.”

They spend the rest of the Sunday just lazing around and even skip dinner in favour of getting food from the kitchen, Hadrian having no desire to face the gossiping students. Honestly, sometimes the concept of a boarding school is rather annoying to him.

At some point, Snape comes to check up on him and congratulates the whole team on their win, and someone even saved him a butterbeer from the party last night.

When he has to repeat the story of what happened with Lucius Malfoy a third time to Daphne, Milly and Tracey, the amusement about it has mostly worn off and it’s with great relief that he discovers that it only spread within Slytherin the next day.

Or well, mostly. He’s on his way from the dungeons to his next class after he had to go back because he forgot his homework when he’s suddenly pulled into an empty classroom.

He has his wand out in an instant, whirling around and a rather nasty curse already on the tip of his tongue but falters when he’s faced with two identical redheads. He actually expected some older Slytherins out for revenge on Malfoy’s behalf.

“Feisty,” one of them says.

“I like it,” the second one follows, both of them grinning at him brightly.

“You’re Fred and George, right?” he asks, and a memory comes to the forefront of his mind, causing him to smirk. “You did that marvellous prank of spelling snowballs to hit Quirrell on the head last year!”

Only belatedly does he think that this might be taken badly due to Quirrell’s untimely demise, but their grins only get wider and they nod simultaneously.

“Right you are.”

“You know, we always wondered why you of all people found that as hilarious as you did.”

Alright, their style of talking definitely takes some getting used to. “I simply appreciate a good prank,” he waves them off and quickly goes on to change the topic. “Two questions though. Or no, three actually – first, which one of you is Fred, and which George?”

“I’m Greg.”

“And I’m Forge.”

Rolling his eyes, he shrugs. “I’ll figure it out eventually. Second, how did you manage to ambush me? I took a shortcut, so there’s no way you could have anticipated I’d come through here.”

They exchange a quick look, but it seems to be enough for them to communicate. “Can’t let on all our secrets already, can we?” the one who introduced himself as Greg says and he notes that his magic feels slightly wilder than his twin’s and that he’s also the one who speaks first, most times

Tilting his head, he watches them for a moment and lowers the barrier on his Legilimency a little. Their emotions are calm though, mostly excitement and curiosity, indicating that they don’t mean any harm, so he decides to humour them.

“Fair enough, though I hope you’re going to answer the third question, at least. Why did you ambush me?” he asks, raising a brow and twirling his wand between his fingers absently.

“Ooh, I think that one we can answer,” the first one says.

“That we can, George.”

Ah. Didn’t take that long, after all.

“We simply wanted to get an impression of Slytherins new star Seeker, you see?”

“Prodigious student,”

“Rising through Slytherins ranks.”

“Baiting Malfoys and heroically battling blood purity.”

He snorts, shaking his head at the two of them. “I have to give it to you, you seem to have some good sources. What can I do for you two then, Fred and George?” he pointedly addresses each of them and relishes in the short flicker of surprise.

Non-Slytherins are so easy to read, but he actually likes the first impression he has of them.

They turn serious after a moment and George says, “Honestly though, that was a rather rough first game for you with that Bludger, we’re glad you were able to figure out who was responsible.”

Oh. OH. They think that Malfoy _ordered_ his elf to curse the Bludger. It didn’t occur to him yet that this might be what people think but it’s probably better this way – for him, because it will raise fewer questions, and for them in general because it puts Malfoy in an even worse light.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I didn’t think any Gryffindor would be bothered by that,” he says, shrugging a bit and smiling ruefully. It’s true enough, besides Neville and Granger ever since the Troll incident, the best treatment he can hope for from that house is ignorance.

Both of them grimace and Fred says, “Yeah, we noticed our brother is a bit of a prick, sorry about that.”

Waving it off, he watches them curiously. “Don’t worry about it. Is that all you wanted? Don’t get me wrong, you’re nice and all but I actually had to be in class –“ he casts a Tempus and startles at the time. “10 minutes ago.”

“Mostly,” they say in unison, both grinning mirthfully. “We also thought we’d offer our assistance in dealing with the more annoying housemates of yours,” George says.

“We noticed some of them are rather persistent in their prejudices, and you can’t free all their house-elves, can you?” Fred goes on, causing him to laugh.

“Unfortunately not, no. I might take you up on that, thanks a lot,” he says earnestly, still smiling, but then narrows his eyes. “Is there a particular reason you’re offering?”

They exchange another glance, only furthering his suspicion and he raises an amused brow, loosely crossing his arms.

“Well, since you’re asking,” George says slowly, rubbing his chin and smirking a bit. “A little bird whispered to us that you’re a Parselmouth.”

He snorts but stays silent. Probably every single witch and wizard in Britain knows that since the Prophet found it necessary to write numerous articles about it but he’s curious where they’re going with this.

“You see, we once read that there’s a magical branch to it, Parselmagic?” Fred continues, tilting his head like he’s not sure about it.

Hadrian doesn’t buy it for a second. “That’s classified as dark, though,” he says, watching them closely.

George makes a dismissive gesture. “We also read that it’s nearly impossible to undo Parselmagic with regular spells.”

Well, they really did their research, didn’t they? “Is that so?” he asks, still unwilling to admit that he probably knows much more about the topic than they do.

“Let’s make a deal, shall we?” George grins, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You stop acting like you don’t know what we’re talking about, and we tell you why we would be _very_ grateful to use that little talent of yours in exchange for some support.”

“Are you sure you two shouldn’t have ended up in Slytherin?” he laughs, pleasantly surprised by their bargaining skills. “But alright, you have me intrigued. Let’s say I know a little bit about Parselmagic, what makes you think I would be actually able to accomplish anything with it?”

Both of them shrug and Fred says, “Well, Malfoy’s still out of it, isn’t he?”

All his amusement vanishes instantly and he scowls, voice cold when he says, “I didn’t do that and I’d prefer you didn’t insinuate I did, either.”

To their credit, they look a bit taken aback by his sudden shift of mood but don’t really falter. “Alright, fair enough. Still, no first-year defeats a Troll with a Knockback Jinx either and we also know that you’re so bored in classes that you basically teach half of your year-mates. We’re pretty sure you’ll manage,” George says, Fred nodding along.

“To come to our point, we’re creating prank articles and it would be fantastic if some of them wouldn’t be terminated with a simple Finite Incartatem,” he adds, the mirth in his eyes reminding him of Sirius.

He takes a moment to think about it – he’s still not very inclined to that particular pastime but they somehow managed to win him over in the short time they spoke, and he suspects that there’s a lot of potential lingering underneath the pranking surface. It could also prove pretty useful, not to mention that the face of their brother is going to be hilarious if he finds out.

It’s a petty thought but all that ignoring and not-reacting is slowly but surely grating on his nerves, and this might just be what he needs to not just snap and curse a bunch of students.

“I have a few conditions,” he eventually says, jumping up to sit on one of the desks behind him. It doesn’t look like he’s getting to his class anytime soon, he just hopes that Blaise or Theo will make up an excuse for him.

“We figured,” they say simultaneously, gesturing for him to go on.

“My friends and I are excluded as targets or we arrange for us being involved to not give away that I’m working with you – not because I mind the association of course, but to spare us trouble from our own house. Slytherins can be prickly about loyalty and all that, not that I care as long as they’re not loyal to me, either,” he starts, ticking it up on a finger.

“Fair,” they nod, taking the desk across from him.

“If you prank students for the fun of it, it really has to be _fun_. Nothing bordering on tormenting,” he continues, some of the stories Sirius told him still not sitting well with him.

He’s relieved when they both look indignant that he even mentions it, and agree readily.

“I’m not saying you would, just a precaution. I don’t like bullying,” he explains before continuing. “Also, no specific targeting of our house-team to sabotage our Quidditch matches or general collection of house-points. I have nothing against picking out some of the more prejudiced Slytherins, but if you only prank my house and not the others, it’s only going to get worse.”

It’s the only point they think about for a moment but they eventually sigh and nod. “Fair enough,” George says, grinning brightly.

“Anything else?” Fred asks, not managing to hide his grimace at the prospect but he shakes his head after some consideration.

“No, I don’t think so. We have an agreement, then?” he asks, returning the grin and clapping his hands together.

Both of them take a dramatic bow which makes for a funny picture due to their sitting positions.

“We are ever so grateful,”

“Slytherins new star Seeker!”

“Prodigious student!”

“Rising through Slytherins ranks!”

“Baiting Malfoys and heroically battling blood purity!”

Yeah. He’s probably going to regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, needed to save Dobby! :D 
> 
> Also, I have a question for you all: In recent weeks, I started to get annoyed by my own choice of changing Harry's name to Hadrian. I'm actually considering to change it back. It's a bit stupid, I don't know why it bothers me so much but somehow it does - so I'd like to know, would you mind that terribly much? I'd keep his nickname but probably change his general aversion to being called Harry. (I still might decide against it because I'd have to go through all the chapters to do it, but yeah, I'd like to hear what you think?)


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: Wow, over 2000 Kudo's. I don't really know what to say besides thank you all very, very much. I'm still blown away by how well this story is received. 
> 
> I'm sorry that this chapter is a little late! It's longer than usual though and I'll post the next one on the weekend anyway, so at least it's 2 chapters in one week? :D 
> 
> Then, there have been some questions about how the Slytherins found out about Dobby and that it's unlikely that Lucius would tell the next-best Slytherin. It is - my thought process went more along the lines of him running into Snape or even searching him out, complaining, and being overheard. 
> 
> Last but not least: Thanks a lot for all your feedback on the name-question. The overwhelming majority of you said that you prefer Hadrian in the context of the story, so I decided that I'm going to keep it. As I said in the authors note at the end of last chapter, I couldn't really pinpoint why it bothered me in the first place - seeing that all of you not only like but prefer it, kind of dissolved that feeling. I suppose I was a bit insecure about how well it is received in general. Thanks to all of you who took the time to answer! <3

When he and Blaise step out of the castle one morning for their usual run, Hadrian startles when the grounds are covered in a thick layer of snow, letting everything appear soft and peaceful in the still dim morning light. Somehow, he didn’t even notice that November melted into December, days blurring into weeks and rushing by without him really taking notice.

“Well,” Blaise sighs, nose scrunched up a bit as he looks around. “Not the best condition for running, is it?”

His breath condenses in the air, short white huffs the wind rips away and Hadrian snorts, flicking his wrist to get his wand. “Don’t be stupid, here.” He spells their shoes water-resistant and applies a Warming Charm before starting to walk again, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his shoulders.

Blaise grumbles something incomprehensible but follows him until they reach the shore of the lake and break into a jog, snow crunching underneath their feet and the sun just rising over the mountain tops, glittering on the ground and small patches of ice on the water.

They’re both flushed and out of breath when they make it back to the castle after nearly an hour and Blaise grudgingly admits that it was a rather nice run.

“Hey, shouldn’t the potion for Draco be ready soon?” Theo asks when they sit down at the Slytherin table after taking a hot shower, and Hadrian hides his wince at the reminder.

“Yeah, Snape and I finished it yesterday, they’re going to wake him up today,” he mutters, untying a letter from Regulus from Thanatos’ leg.

The irony of him helping to brew the potion isn’t lost on him, but for one it’s not like he had any rational reason to refuse, and for the other, he was rather curious about the process. He didn’t think it would take this long for Lucius Malfoy to get his hands on Mandrake leaves, and then it took another two weeks to finish the potion – but overall, he’s a bit conflicted on the matter.

There’s no way to tell what exactly Draco saw before he’s been petrified, and while, true to Tom’s promise and Salazar’s notes, the Basilisk didn’t wake up again after he put it back into hibernation, he knows that Dumbledore had a good idea what happened when Tom Riddle opened the Chamber 50 years ago. It’s not a big stretch to suspect him, the only Parselmouth, if there’s a report stating that a Basilisk was responsible for Draco’s predicament.

It’s not like there’s much he can do about it though, and at least there’s not any proof of his involvement, no matter what Draco is going to say, so he resigned himself to dealing with whatever will happen.

“Hey, you want to stay the holidays again?” he nudges Blaise after scanning Regulus’ letter, anticipation about going home soon taking a hold of him.

Blaise smirks, taking a sip of his tea and putting his cup down slowly. “What, think you’re going to miss me?” he teases, but then his smile turns a bit softer. “Thanks, but my mother is coming to England and I’m going to stay with her.”

“Do you think the Malfoys will hold their New Years Gala despite what happened to Draco?” Theo interrupts before he can answer, voice a bit strained and his eyes glued to his plate.

“They do, Regulus mentioned it,” he answers, biting back the urge to invite Theo to stay the holidays as well. He’d prefer to not have him go home, but he knows that it doesn’t work that way and that Theo has to make that decision for himself first.

The bell cuts their conversation short and they meet Neville at the double doors, making their way to Transfiguration together.

“Do you have Quidditch today?” Neville asks, taking the seat next to him and giving a small wave to Tracey.

“No, but I’ll meet up with the twins this afternoon in the room in the dungeons. Why?”

“You three are a scary trio, do you know that?” Neville says with a laugh, and Hadrian only smirks in response. “I need some help with the potions homework.”

“Oh we can do that, I think they mainly want to go over some ideas anyway and I can multi-task, you probably need less help than you think, anyway,” he says with a grin before focusing on McGonagall who is just clearing her throat to draw the attention towards her.

Over the last few weeks, he spent at least two days a week with Fred and George and his first impression quickly proved to be correct. The two of them are brilliant and it’s actually a lot of fun to help them with some of their stuff, even without having much enthusiasm for pranks himself. It would be easy to use some of their ideas for different purposes and he’s already working on a few adjustments by himself.

His friends, especially Theo and Daphne, took some time to get used to them but it’s rather hard not to like them and the advantage of being excluded from their possible list of targets makes it easier.

Until now, he didn’t take much advantage of his end of the bargain – ever since Draco got petrified and the liberation of Dobby, most Slytherins have been very careful to not make their dislike of him too obvious, even Flint toned his antagonism during Quidditch practice down. Granted, it might also have something to do with their defeat of Gryffindor and the appearance of all the Blacks, but he’s pretty sure that it wouldn’t take them long to make the connection between his friendship with the twins and them being pranked, and he wants to keep the peace as long as it lasts.

He’s busy enough as it is, evident in the way time seems to fly by. He still practices duelling with Blaise nearly every day and they make a lot of progress, alternating between duelling each other to train their reflexes and defensive spells, and asking the Room of Requirements for practice dummies as they have at Grimmauld Place.

After some consideration, he started to teach Blaise a few of the spells he, up until now, only practiced on his own. Still not those of a really dark nature he only uses with Death’s, Cassiopeia’s or Regulus’ supervision, especially because he avoids doing them at Hogwarts in general if he can help it, but definitely in the greyer area.

Blaise didn’t look surprised when he brought it up and has some of his own he taught him in return. It’s actually quite useful, seeing that he can merge some of his private practice time with their duelling training.

He still does a lot of research into the history and present practices of the Wizengamot, as well as the many other topics he got into over the years, does some training with all of his friends, helps out other students in class and has to keep up with their homework, so it’s not like he’s not busy enough.

“Mr. Potter-Black, do you think the spell is going to do itself?” Professor McGonagall interrupts his wandering thoughts and he startles, looking up at her. Some of the Gryffindor’s snicker and he restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

“Sorry Professor, I was – kind of lost in my own thoughts,” he apologises quickly, shaking his head to focus. Maybe he’s a bit _too_ busy if he’s drifting off in class now. “What was the spell?”

She purses her lips and he hides a wince, trying for a smile instead. “The exercise is to transfigure a beetle into a button.”

Oh well, not like that is much of a difficulty he thinks, waving his wand at the beetle on his desk and keeping his smug grin off his face when he looks back up at her.

McGonagall stares at him with wide eyes though and he glances back down, frowning and wondering what he did to cause that reaction.

“Did you just do a silent transfiguration?”

Damn.

“Did I?” he asks, looking at her with wide eyes and deciding to play dumb. Blaise snorts next to him and he kicks him under the table.

“You didn’t notice?” she asks with a frown and he shakes his head. “Either way, that is remarkable work for your age. 15 points to Slytherin, feel free to focus on your own work or help your classmates.” There’s a brief, soft smile for him and he remembers that Sirius told him that apparently, his father has been some kind of Transfiguration prodigy and that McGonagall rather liked his parents.

Thankfully, the rest of his classes pass less eventfully, and he spends his afternoon with Fred, George, Neville, and Blaise in the small room in the dungeons.

“Did you hear that there will be a duelling club in a week?” Fred asks, tapping his wand against a cookie from the batch they got from the kitchen.

They’re currently trying to apply a charm that would change the hair colour of whoever eats it. Hadrian tried to argue that it would be far easier to use a potion, but seeing that it’s kind of difficult to convince the elves to add it, they prefer to sneak into the kitchen and apply the charm afterwards.

It’s true, but that still doesn’t make it easy and he can’t do much to help until they figured it out.

“Really?” Neville asks, looking up from his textbook.

“Do you know which teacher is going to lead it?” he asks, already pondering if he should even bother attending. He doesn’t want to give too much of his skill-level away and doubts that he would learn all that much.

“No idea, but it would be neat if it was Flitwick, he was duelling champion a few years ago.”

Both he and Blaise perk up at that and exchange a look – might be worth to check it out, after all.

He’s just getting back to explaining the interdependency of stirring and cutting techniques to Neville when Death softly clears his throat to get his attention.

“Here, that part explains it pretty well,” he points out to Neville, giving him his book opened on the correct page and then pulls his own essay on the theory for Memory Charms closer.

_“What’s up, old man?”_

_“Draco was just woken up and is currently questioned by Madame Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and his father.”_ Death says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Hadrian doesn’t share the sentiment and ducks his head to make sure his expression is hidden. _“And?”_

_“Well,”_ Death says with a chuckle and he has to bite his lip to not snap at him, even with the conversation taking place inside his head. _“Kind of funny, because while he says that he saw yellow eyes reflected in the water and heard something large move around, Madame Pomfrey doesn’t seem to believe him, telling him he doesn’t need to be ashamed that some older students got the better of him, Dumbledore seems to agree with her and, while his father does believe him, he’s wary to voice it because he thinks that he is responsible due to slipping the diary to someone and doesn’t want to pull any attention towards the whole affair.”_

Alright, that _is_ kind of funny, but – _“That doesn’t make sense, though. Regulus mentioned the diary to Lucius Malfoy, so he has to at least suspect that we know about it, if not stopped his plan because it’s been only his son who’s been petrified so far.”_

_“While that is true, Regulus was also quite clear that he has no qualms to use that knowledge as blackmail material,”_ Death says, appreciation for Regulus clear in his tone.

_“Alright, good point. So what, the general consensus amongst the adults is that Draco is lying to save his own face? It seems rather unlikely for Dumbledore,”_ he says, feeling satisfied with how that turned out and ignoring the small part of him that thinks it’s a bit unfair for Draco.

_“Indeed, though I don’t think that it will deter Draco from trying to spread the story. Dumbledore did ponder the possibility but came to the conclusion that there would have been more attacks by now if it was related to the Chamber.”_

Pondering that for a moment, he pulls one of his books close to keep looking occupied _. “I doubt the Slytherins will believe him more than the adults – the assumption that he doesn’t want to admit that I got the better of him, which is what most of them believe, is rather reasonable and in-character for him.”_

_“Very true. Just prepare yourself for the chance that it might kick up the rumours again, I wanted to let you know before you return to the common room.”_

_“Thanks a lot. Are we going to practice later? I got a book from Cassiopeia on Indian wizarding culture and a lot of it is in Sanskrit, so I decided it would be nice to actually learn it – “_

_“We can. We can also wait until the holidays because you’re kind of overworking yourself as it is,”_ Death says, and it’s not really a choice.

_“I would be bored, otherwise,”_ he argues anyway because it’s true.

_“We’ll see, alright? I leave you to it, now. Your terror twins are trying to get your attention,”_ Death says, obviously deciding that it’s better to have that discussion later which just means that Hadrian is not going to get his way.

For a moment, he’s annoyed but then he remembers that there are barely two weeks left until they go home and thinks that Death also might have a point – he _is_ rather busy, all things considered, and he still remembers McGonagall first catching him not paying any attention whatsoever, and then focusing so little that he actually cast non-verbally.

“Sorry, got kind of carried away with that,” he grins at the twins. “Did you consider adding a potion afterwards instead of a spell? It’s difficult to use a spell with an intermediate object if it’s not a curse, especially if you want to apply it to a large batch of food. Another opportunity might be to invent a curse that only has the desired effect, but I’m not well-versed in spell-crafting, not even sure where the difference between curses and jinxes exactly lies, so the potion might still be easier.”

Come to think of it, he should look into that, or ask Arcturus about it; it’s the kind of stuff that he would know.

They discuss it for a little longer, eventually deciding on the potion after all, and when he got Neville to finish his essay for Snape, he and Blaise make their way back to the common room.

The sight they walk in on makes him snort; Draco is sitting in front of one of the fireplaces with Parkinson next to him and Crabbe and Goyle on the sofa across, and he talks at a volume that carries through the whole common room – about his dreadful petrification, the terrible yellow eyes and that someone let a monster into the school to hunt him down in particular.

Hadrian knows for a fact that being petrified by the Basilisk is like dreamless sleep – you are not aware of time passing or anything happening. He had a long talk with Death about that because he has been worried that there might be any lasting damage.

A quick look around shows him that, while many of the Slytherins are listening, most expressions vary from doubtful to downright incredulous.

Draco apparently heard his snort over his own talking and whirls around in his seat, glaring at him. He only raises an eyebrow in response, not sure what is going to happen – Draco looks rather angry and for a moment, he wonders if he’s going to blame him.

Then Draco presses his lips into a thin line and turns back, and he realises that his father most likely told him about Dobby. Not even Draco would be so stupid to accuse him of letting a beast into the school, probably – he hopes so, at least. He wouldn’t put it past him to accuse Hadrian of luring him there, seeing that Draco followed him around for weeks before the incident.

He shakes his head to dispel the thoughts and plops down on a couch far enough away from Draco and his cronies, flashing Theo, Daphne, and Milly a smile. “Heard about the duelling club?”

* * *

When the day of the duelling club finally comes around, most of the school is already talking about it in excitement, and he wonders why this hasn’t been a thing until now. He’s still not sure that he will get much out of it, but he’s curious and hopes to see Flitwick in action.

Out of all the teachers, he didn’t expect Lockhart to come out on the stage, though he probably should have.

“Should we leave?” he mutters to Blaise, leaning against the wall behind him and crossing his arms over his chest.

Blaise just opens his mouth when Snape follows Lockhart and his scowl turns into a smirk. “Nevermind.”

He tunes most of what Lockhart is saying out, after three months of doing so in class more than used to it, and just wonders how the idiot can miss the expression on Snape’s face that promises nothing but pain. Hell, _he_ would cower if that glare was directed at him and they’re on comparably good terms with each other.

When Lockhart is blasted off the stage, he doesn’t manage to hide his loud laugh, earning himself a number of glares from some of the girls and exchanges an exasperated look with Blaise and Theo.

When they’re told to pair up, he turns towards Blaise but Snape interrupts him, waving him over to Ron Weasley. He hesitates for a second, not convinced that it’s the smartest idea to make the boy even more pissed at him than he already is, but it’s not like Snape is going to take no for an answer.

Keeping his face blank, he walks over, ignoring the scowl directed at him and bowing as much as he needs to. It takes him less than 10 seconds to disarm Weasley, and it only gets worse from there – anger isn’t all that helpful when trying to learn a new spell, and Weasley’s face only gets redder, his movements more sloppy and he doesn’t even want to start on his aim.

He would have considered giving him a tip, simply to end this pitiful display, but he doesn’t think it would help matters. He breathes a sigh of relief when the chaos within the Great Hall becomes so much that Lockhart calls a halt to it.

One look around him has him hard-pressed to hide his laughter; there are students with bruises and boils on their faces, bleeding from their nose, Seamus Finnigan tried to attack Neville and is hopping around, unable to get rid of the Leglocker and also laughing uncontrollably because of what he suspects must be a Tickling Charm, and the twins are both sporting green, feathered hair.

He gives Neville a thumbs-up and a smirk, walking back over to his friends without another word at Weasley who’s currently repeating over and over that ‘he’s going to pay for this’ – for what, he has no idea, and he also can’t say that he’s particularly worried.

Still, he’s rather surprised when Snape orders Draco and Weasley onto the stage; he doesn’t think that there’s a possible way for this to _not_ end in a disaster and the way Draco smirks when Snape whispers something into his ear, while Weasley looks panicked when Lockhart drops his wand only adds to that suspicion.

Exchanging a glance with Blaise and Theo, they slowly walk a bit closer to the stage, only just pushing through the front line when Draco conjures a large, black snake.

Cursing under his breath, he takes another step forward when Lockhart flicks his wand, mumbling some nonsense and hurls the snake into the air. The sound of her crashing back onto the stage can probably be heard through the whole Great Hall, and she’s cursing vicious death threats, already moving towards some students that stand frozen in shock.

Wincing in sympathy for the poor thing and also seeing that it’s very close to attacking the next best student, he hisses, _$Hey there, beautiful. Don’t attack anyone!$_

He can hear the students fall silent and he keeps himself from rolling his eyes – really, even without him speaking Parseltongue every other day, they should be used to this by now.

_$You’re a Speaker! Why am I here?!$_

_$Someone stupid conjured you, but it’s not his fault. Let me send you back?$_ he asks, carefully slipping his wand into his hand and shaking his head at Snape when he steps closer, ready to raise his wand.

_$Where will you send me?!$_ she asks, making her way over to him and he stretches out his arm, letting her coil around it.

The students around him scramble to get away and this time he doesn’t bother to hide his exasperation. _$I’d send you back to where you came from. I can also let you outside, but it’s winter here so I’m not sure how well you would survive.$_

_$I don’t like the cold. Send me back then, Speaker,$_ she demands, and he spares a second to think that she’d probably get on well with Atana if her imperious way of talking is anything to go by.

_$Alright then. You have to let go of me though.$_

Crouching down, he lets her move to the floor and then raises his wand. “Evanesco.”

Looking around, he can see many of the students stare at him and sighs. “Honestly, you all know I’m a Parselmouth and the least you could do is saying thanks because I just saved all of you from our current Defence-teacher’s incompetence.”

That gets a few laughers out of them and the tension disperses, though he catches a quick scowl fleeting over Lockhart’s face. Interesting, he should keep an eye on that.

“20 points to Slytherin,” Snape drawls from behind him and he coughs to hide his smirk.

“I – I think that is enough excitement for you all,” Lockhart speaks up, clapping his hands together.

He doesn’t waste any time to get his friends and leave the Great Hall. If this wasn’t the last of what they’ve seen of the duelling club, he’s definitely skipping the next meetings – they can see how they deal with Lockhart’s incompetence by themselves, honestly.

* * *

Their train compartment on the way back to London is rather full, with all his Slytherin friends, Neville and both of the twins, as well as their friend Lee Jordan keeping them company.

It’s probably the loudest, most chaotic train ride he had as of yet, the twins still riding on their high from the successful prank at the end of term-fest. Not that he can blame them, Draco’s reaction alone to his hair turning an ugly green would have been enough to make him laugh until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

Nevertheless, he would be lying if he said that he isn’t glad when the train pulls into Kings Cross. No matter how much he loves his friends and came to enjoy his time at Hogwarts, more or less, he’s looking forward to not only spending time with Regulus and the rest of his family, but the privacy and quiet of Grimmauld Place.

“Hey there, kiddo. Let’s go home before anybody pesters us with small-talk or me with another myriad of questions about the Wizengamot, yeah?” Regulus greets him, smiling wryly.

As soon as he agrees and waves goodbye to his friends, Regulus apparates them into the foyer of Grimmauld Place and pulls him into a tight hug, both of them staying like this for long moments.

Both Kreacher and Dobby popping into the room eventually break them apart and he watches in amusement as Kreacher glares at Dobby so intently that it wouldn’t surprise him if Dobby suddenly caught fire.

“Welcome home, young Master!” Kreacher greets him, pulling his eyes away and smiling crookedly.

“Hey Kreacher, hey Dobby. Alright, you two?”

Dobby nods so wildly that his ears flap around while Kreacher simply grumbles something incoherent under his breath and snaps his fingers to send his luggage up to his room.

“That well, huh?” he murmurs to Regulus who only shakes his head with a sigh.

“Library?” Regulus asks, smiling softly and ordering Kreacher to bring them some coffee and snacks upstairs.

Sinking onto their usual sofa in front of the fire manages to dispel the last amount of tension he always carries around at Hogwarts and he leans against Regulus, closing his eyes for a moment until Kreacher pops in with their steaming mugs and a plate full of sandwiches.

“So,” Regulus starts after a while, turning to lean against the armrest and pinning him with a look. “You did something stupid.”

Ah yeah. He wondered how long it would take to bring that up.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he tilts his head and hums. “I found the Chamber of Secrets, more by luck than anything else. The girl that was killed by Tom Riddle stayed as a ghost in the bathroom where the entrance is.”

Regulus snorts, shaking his head in exasperation. “Figures.”

“Anyway, apparently living for centuries isn’t all that good for your sanity, Basilisk or not. Even the diary warned me that she’s not –”

“She?” Regulus interrupts with a raised brow, and he wonders how the sex of the Basilisk is the most interesting part about this. Then again, it’s Regulus.

“Her name’s Hela, she’s actually kind of nice.”

“Only you would describe a bloody Basilisk as nice,” Regulus mutters to himself, the statement kind of contradicted by Atana being curled up in his lap while he runs his fingers over her head.

Deciding to ignore it, he simply shrugs. “What neither Tom Riddle nor Death and I considered was that her insanity would reach so far that she would disobey orders. A few weeks after I opened the Chamber and woke her in the process, she decided to leave on her own.”

Regulus eyes widen and he sits up a bit straighter. “So, Draco’s petrification…”

“Happened because he was sneaking after me and lingered in front of the bathroom. He was very lucky to only see her reflection. Me too, it’s bad enough as it is.”

Regulus winces, running a hand through his hair. “Well, but it’s not exactly your fault, is it? Not to mention that it’s – well, not to be mean but it _is_ a little funny that out of all the students, it’s Lucius Malfoy’s son who ended up petrified, all things considered.”

Unable to help his own smile, he leans back, pulling his feet up onto the sofa. “Yeah, it is. What’s even funnier is that apart from his father, nobody believes Draco. He said he saw a pair of yellow eyes, and both Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey think he’s only ashamed that some older student got the better of him. The Slytherins still think it was me and that he doesn’t want to admit it.”

Regulus laughs, shaking his head. “The poor boy, honestly. I assume Lucius didn’t say anything because it was he who sent the diary to Hogwarts?”

Taking another sip of his coffee before balancing the mug on his knees, he nods. “It’s what Death said, yeah. And that he’s not sure how much we know or how we’re involved, but that he’s worried ever since you mentioned the diary to him.”

“He should be,” Regulus says with a smirk before turning serious again. “But there’s no chance that the Basilisk – Hela – leaves again?!”

“No,” he says, quickly shaking his head. “There were instructions in Salazar’s personal study on how to put her back into hibernation and keep her that way even if I keep visiting. I did it the same night with Death’s help, and she’s been asleep ever since. Death is still keeping an eye on things though.”

Regulus nods in satisfaction, squeezing his leg for a moment. “Did you say Salazar’s study?”

He laughs, because that question was so predictable, and he just _knew_ that it would come. Instead of answering, he flicks his wand, tilting his head to listen until a bunch of journals comes flying through the open door.

Regulus’ eyes instantly get that curious glint that always comes up when he’s in the process of discovering something interesting and Hadrian can see that he’s itching to reach out.

Plucking the stack of parchment out of the air, he hands it over. “I didn’t take the originals because most of them aren’t in the best condition and most of the notes are in Parselscript, anyway. But I copied them and plan to translate them over the holidays. I started on some of them, but it’s time-consuming and I’m – kind of busy, at school.”

“Are you overworking yourself?” Regulus asks with a frown, looking up from the journal he’s currently thumbing through.

“You sound like Death. No, it’s not too much, in general. Just, you know – Quidditch, homework, duelling with Blaise, helping the others, this little, annoying thing called a social life,” he says with a careless gesture, earning himself a snort from Regulus.

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re not also doing way too much research into the Wizengamot, read your own things, practice with Death and go running every day. You’re writing me letters, don’t think you can fool me.”

Hiding his wince behind an innocent smile, he shrugs. “You know me, I like keeping busy, and it’s not like those things aren’t also fun.” Regulus still looks doubtful and he sighs, dropping his careless act. “Really, I’m fine. It’s why I put off the translations, and I only skimmed the last books from Cassiopeia because I want to learn Sanskrit first and Death convinced me to wait for the holidays.”

Regulus looks at him for a few moments longer but then nods, smiling. “Alright then. You don’t look like you aren’t getting enough sleep either. On the topic of the Wizengamot, Sirius is coming over tomorrow. Did you decide who you’re going to ask to step in as your proxy?”

Like when the whole family visited for his first Quidditch match, he doesn’t miss how much more relaxed Regulus appears on the topic of Sirius and it calms something within him he didn’t even know was tense.

“I gave it some thought and researched a bit into the whole topic. It’s true that whoever I choose is bound to vote the way I want them to, right?”

Regulus nods, putting the journals onto the coffee table for now.

“Then I think I’d like to ask Sirius if he’s alright with it. I mean, I can’t really see him in there and he’s going to have to promise to me that he’s really alright with doing it, but I think it would go a long way in preventing accusations, especially from Dumbledore, that I’m being influenced in any way. Of course, Cassiopeia would be great but regarding chaotic nature, there’s not _that_ much of a difference.”

“That’s true, but don’t let them hear it,” Regulus laughs. “Your reasoning makes sense though, but it really depends if Sirius agrees. He might have a hard time voting for things he doesn’t agree with.”

He just hums, sinking a little deeper into the sofa. The warmth from the fire and the feeling of being back home are making him drowsy, and he thinks he might close his eyes just for a minute, revelling in the warmth.

* * *

When he wakes up, he’s in his own bed and a quick Tempus tells him that it’s nearly 11 am. Well, it looks like he needed sleep.

After a shower and unpacking his trunk, he walks down into the kitchen where both Regulus and Sirius are sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of them. Exchanging a hug with Sirius, he plops down into his chair and manages a grateful smile for Kreacher when he puts a coffee and breakfast in front of him.

“Merlin, but I missed coffee for breakfast,” he murmurs to himself, adding sugar and milk and sighing contentedly at the first sip.

“Got him addicted already, did you?” Sirius directs at Regulus with a smirk, and for a moment, Hadrian tenses, wondering if that might be taken the wrong way.

Regulus merely grins though and gives an unapologetic shrug. “Not my fault that he realises that it’s much better than tea.”

“Fair enough. How was your term?” Sirius asks, smiling and lounging back in his chair.

“Busy. Well – the actual curriculum is kind of boring, but I keep myself busy. I think I shocked McGonagall a few weeks ago though,” he says after swallowing some of his toast. He’s not sure why he remembers that now, it wasn’t all that important after all.

“Dear old Minnie, I don’t think there’s much that could still shock her,” Sirius grins. “What did you do?”

“Non-verbal Transfiguration,” he smirks back, which only gets broader when Sirius raises an impressed brow. Honestly, the gesture must be some Black-family trait he thinks. “The irony is that I simply forgot to speak the incantation, I didn’t even mean to do it and played dumb when she asked me about it.”

Sirius laughs, and he takes a moment to marvel how much better he looks, compared to roughly a year ago; which reminds him of something else. “Hey Reg, are we going to have a Yule dinner again?”

“At Black Manor,” Regulus says with a nod, glancing at Sirius. “Without Cygnus and Druella though. They were invited but said they’re going to spend it with the Malfoys. I think they hoped we would invite the rest of them, but none of us were inclined, and I doubt that Lucius would have agreed.”

“Such a pity, we could have asked Dobby to come,” he grins, cleaning off the rest of his food and summoning the coffee pot towards him.

“You, kiddo, have a mean streak,” Sirius says but he’s grinning brightly and Hadrian thinks there might be some pride in his eyes. Figures, he thinks, hiding his smile behind his freshly filled cup.

“Hey Sirius,” he says after they fell into a comfortable silence for a while. “What do you know about the Wizengamot procedures?”

A thoughtful look crosses Sirius’ expression and he tilts his head. “Well, obviously both Reg and I got taught extensively. Can’t say I kept up with it in recent years, but I always thought it was one of the more interesting parts of the whole Lord-business, seeing that you actually have the chance to do something else than throwing around money. No offence though,” he adds with a quick smile at Regulus who just waves him off.

Well, that’s much more promising than he could have expected. He ponders how to go from here but, knowing Sirius and considering that he wants to make sure that Sirius only agrees willingly, he thinks a direct approach might be best.

“You know, I can name a proxy for my seats when I get 13 next year. Originally, I wanted to ask Arcturus but with him being Chief Warlock, that doesn’t work,” he starts, watching him closely.

Sirius nods but looks a little confused, like he has no idea where he’s going with this. He’s surprised at the pang in his chest when he realises that Sirius obviously feels so removed from his life that it doesn’t even occur to him that he might ask _him_. Making a split-second decision, he chooses to not build his reasoning solely on political advantages.

Shrugging, he turns his mug in his hands and smiles a little. “Would you be interested? I started researching the regulations and so on over the last few months and we’d obviously have to discuss how you vote in my stead, but I would like it if you took up my seats. As long as you want to, of course.”

Sirius whole face lights up, only confirming his previous thoughts and he’s a bit taken aback – considering Sirius’ stance on the whole matter of family business and doing politics, he would have thought he’d be much less enthusiastic, especially about the whole ‘vote as I want you to’- point.

Then again, Sirius really _did_ come a long way over the last year.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Sirius smiles, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think about it much yet, to be honest, but I need something to do and quarrelling with stuck-up idiots could be rather entertaining,” he says with a sharp grin that makes him look ever the Black, but then sobers again. “Of course I’d vote only like you want me to, even if I wasn’t bound by magic. And it’s useful if I do it, isn’t it? Nobody’s going to accuse Reg or Cassiopeia of influencing you.”

He raises an eyebrow in surprise and exchanges a quick look with Regulus, who only smiles knowingly. Seems like the two of them really managed to sort out some of their problems.

“Great, thank you! I can give you my notes if you want to,” he says, smiling softly and still half-expecting him to grimace at the prospect of working through notes.

Sirius seems to see something in his expression and laughs, shaking his head. “You know, I do understand your disbelief, but I was one of the best students in my year and still did a lot of, - how did you call it? Kept myself busy, and not only with pulling questionable pranks.”

“Yeah, you’re – I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to be so happy about it,” he says with a shrug, grinning sheepishly.

“Can’t fault you for that, but as I said, it was one of the few things I liked about being the heir. Not enough to make up for everything else but – anyway. Speaking of extra-curricular activities,” he changes the topic, eyes suddenly gleaming.

Another look at Regulus tells him that he has no idea where Sirius is going with this and he’s a bit caught up between curiosity and wariness.

Laughing again, Sirius shakes his head. “Oh don’t look at me like that, I think you’re going to like it. You know I’m an Animagus – “

“Wait, what?!” he exclaims, suddenly sitting up straight in his chair and staring at Sirius with wide eyes.

“You – you _didn’t_?” Sirius asks, confused, looking between him and Regulus.

“Not my secret to tell,” Regulus says with a smile, obviously enjoying this. The git.

“Merlin but I should have realised that when we learned that Pettigrew was an Animagus,” he groans, only just refraining from hitting his head against the table. “Of course! You did it to keep Remus company, right? How did I never think of that?!”

A dark look crosses Sirius’ face at the mention of Pettigrew, not that he can blame him, but he smiles at Hadrian’s disbelief. “Yeah, we started towards the end of our second year and finally managed it all in fifth year. James was a stag and I’m a dog, easily mistaken for a grim.”

It takes him a moment, but when he finally gets where Sirius is going with this he can barely sit still. “So, you’re going to teach me?”

“Yeah, if you want to? It will take some time but it’s a useful skill to have. Especially if you don’t register yourself,” Sirius says with a smirk, looking as excited as Hadrian feels.

“Of course I want to! When do we start?”

Both Regulus and Sirius laugh at that and, try as he might, he doesn’t even manage to fake a pout. Honestly though, how useful is that going to be?!

“As I said, it’s a long process. Do you know Occlumency?” Sirius asks, turning more serious and leaning forwards, arms crossed on the table.

That question manages to calm him down a bit as well because it’s annoyingly difficult to answer.

“Eh – not really? I mostly rely on the protection of my heir rings,” he says eventually, hoping that it won’t raise too many questions.

Sirius looks surprised. “You didn’t teach him?” he directs at Regulus but goes on before he can answer. “Doesn’t matter, you can probably learn it in the process. The first step to both is meditating, anyway. There are books in the library that probably explain it better than I ever could, so until the summer holidays, that’s all you’re going to do – take half an hour before going to bed and meditate.”

“I’ll give you the right one,” Regulus says. “I think you’re going to get the hang of it quickly enough, you already have a good connection to your own magic.”

“Don’t become impatient though, I mean it when I say that it takes some time. Your father and I finally managed it towards the end of our 4th year, and if the records are to be believed, we were one of the youngest to ever do so. Granted, we can’t know that because the records go by registered Animagi, but I think it’s a reasonable estimation.”

Well then. He has a record to break, hasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! I think I will try to wrap up second year soon, seeing that there's not that much that still has to happen. Third year won't be very extensive either because the main plot of the book is already resolved. If you have any suggestions though, feel free to drop me a comment, I'm currently trying to figure out some more side-plots for third year! <3
> 
> Also, thoughts on Sirius in the Wizengamot? :D


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your feedback! <3

Hadrian would have liked to instantly start with the meditation exercises, but, after pondering it for a bit, decides to finally learn Sanskrit first. By now, he knows that it always takes him a while to get used to the sudden influx of new information, especially with those languages vastly different from English, and even knowing as little about meditation as he does, he thinks it will probably be the easier task.

When he asks Death if he will stay true to his promise now, he gets a deep laugh in response. “Of course I will, you should know that. Although I should tell you that Sanskrit is a very broad term – the language is ancient and thus, there are different forms and dialects. The oldest is Vedic Sanskrit, dating back to the second millennium BCE; more common and also more… let’s say standardized, is Classical Sanskrit. There are more, but with these two you should be able to cover most texts.”

“Will you give me both?” he asks, already excited to learn a language this ancient. Experience tells him that the older a language, the more powerful the magic he can do with it.

“Yes, but I will do it when you’re asleep because it’s easier for your brain to process. It will take you some time to get used to it, much like with Ancient Egyptian,” Death explains, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Pity, then I have to wait to do any rituals until I’m back at school,” he sighs and leans into the cool touch while Atana grumbles in discomfort and flees from his lap.

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Death says dryly. “Besides, most magic that stems from Ancient Indian culture is light or grey in nature, wizards have been closer to the Muggles in that culture and their customs are influenced by religious practices. Both Hinduism and Buddhism put a lot of weight on purity and while they don’t equate dark with evil as much as some European cultures do, it simply developed this way.”

He tilts his head and thinks about it, trying to come up with a reason for the differences. “So, dark magic is considered more impure?”

“Not in the direct sense, no. But a lot of dark magic is used with the goal to cause harm, and opposed to light magic, it’s mostly fuelled by emotions and thus connected more closely to the soul than to the mind. It’s the reason why you can easily go mad if you don’t handle it correctly,” Death explains and sits down in the armchair across from him.

“I thought only murder damages the soul?”

“Yes and no. Nothing harms the soul as much as intended, cold-blooded murder, that is true. But as I said, most dark spells need a strong, emotional intent and that is inherently linked to your soul. So it subsequently has a greater impact on it, even if it’s not automatically harmful. You will find a lot on the topic in the Sanskrit texts.”

He nods slowly, his impatience to finally read them only growing. It makes sense, now that he thinks about it, but it also throws up a lot of new questions. “How can someone who uses dark magic protect their soul, then?”

Death bows his head. “Good question. There are different methods, Regulus and the other Blacks, for example, use their Occlumency to sort out their emotions. As you just learned, Occlumency goes hand in hand with meditation, even if it becomes a subconscious act once you mastered it. There are also rituals that – let’s call it ‘clean’ you from the residues. I think that it’s one of the reasons why Cassiopeia gave you the book in the first place, I’m rather sure that Regulus mentioned it to her.”

“Of course he did,” he says with a smile. “Why does dark magic have a stronger impact than light magic?”

Death looks at him for long moments before he sighs. “That’s a rather simple question you should know the answer to – in many regards, dark magic is more powerful than light magic, so the price you have to pay is higher. Of course, it’s not true for all spells, but for the powerful light spells, you pay in the amount of concentration you have to invest. They’re more draining, and you don’t experience a rush as you do with dark spells but exhaustion.”

He grimaces because he _should_ have known that. They talk for another hour, reflecting on his experiences with the spells he practices but eventually he’s tired enough to go to bed and he’s looking forward to finally learning Sanskrit so much that for once, he doesn’t delay it by writing to Tom or reading until he can barely keep his eyes open.

* * *

As Death predicted, it takes him nearly a week to actually get the hang on Sanskrit, especially in its written form, and he only keeps practicing his reading comprehension over the holidays. The closeness of Sanskrit to Latin and Ancient Greek makes it slightly easier, but he still stumbles through the texts more than anything else. Different alphabets simply tend to be hard to get used to and he’s once again becoming aware of the pure luck that he doesn’t actually have to learn the languages.

The Yule dinner is worlds more relaxed than it has been last year. Sirius is in a good mood, talking with Arcturus and Regulus about the ongoing Wizengamot procedures and is obviously eager to get a grasp on all of it quickly.

They disappear into Arcturus’ study when dinner is over, for Sirius to get some books and documents. Hadrian ponders joining them for a moment, but he actually has something else he wanted to ask for days now.

“Hey Cassiopeia, did you find something on Dumbledore yet? Or Lockhart for that matter?” he asks, smiling innocently at Lucretia when she fondly rolls her eyes at the two of them and pretends not to notice that Cassiopeia hands him a glass of wine.

Cassiopeia’s eyes get a mean gleam and she nods, folding her hands on the table. “Oh, I think I’m getting there. I finally have a lead regarding Dumbledore, but it will take a lot more research. Nevertheless, I think it’s rather interesting that his father went to Azkaban because he attacked three Muggles, don’t you think?”

He chokes on his wine and quickly puts the glass down. “It is,” he agrees rather weakly when he can finally breathe again after Lucretia flicked her wand at him.

“He had a sister as well – and a brother, of course, who owns the Hogs Head in Hogsmeade, but that’s common knowledge. What’s interesting about the sister is that she died young without a documented explanation for how that happened. I have made arrangements and will be travelling for the whole of January, I hope I will know more when I return,” she says, her smile promising nothing good.

He returns her grin, taking a careful sip. “And Lockhart?”

A sneer curls her lip. “Oh, that was easier, but I still need to gather some proof. All those stories he writes?”

He nods and tilts his head in anticipation. He’s suspecting for months now that there’s something wrong with Lockhart’s claims, not to mention that the man is so obviously incompetent that even those stories that don’t read like a fairy tale are simply very unlikely to have happened as he tells them.

“He didn’t do any of that. He’s simply very good at the Memory Charm.”

She watches him closely, obviously waiting for him to make the connection himself and it doesn’t take him very long. “Wait – so, he obliviated the people who actually did it and took the credit?!”

“Indeed. As I said, I still need to gather some proof, but it shouldn’t take me long while I’m travelling,” she says with smugness basically radiating off of her.

Not that she doesn’t have the right to – the longer he knows her, the more in awe does he find himself of her skill to get information and secrets on everyone she knows. Every time he’s reminded of that, he’s grateful all over again that he’s on her good side. He’s desperately curious how she does it, but he knows that it wouldn’t do him any good to ask – he can only hope that she might share it with him one day on her own volition.

“What do you plan to do with it? When you get the evidence, I mean?” he asks, his mind coming up with a few possibilities. Though he’s not sure what good any blackmail on Lockhart would do, it’s not like the man has anything they would need.

“Sue and expose him, of course,” she says with a dismissive gesture. “His fame is obviously the most important thing to him, what he defines himself over. Strip it away and he loses everything he built himself on.”

“Mean. I like it,” he grins, leaning back in his chair.

“Merlin, Cassiopeia,” Lucretia sighs but she’s unable to hide the smile that’s tugging at her lips.

“Oh don’t act all exasperated, you were as angry as the rest of us when he vanished Hadrian’s bones,” Cassiopeia says, rolls her eyes, and flicks her wand to fill up all their glasses.

Lucretia doesn’t answer, she just bows her head slightly and raises her glass.

Their conversation is cut short when Regulus, Arcturus, and Sirius return, the latter with a stack of parchment and books floating after him.

“Should we light the fire, then?” Arcturus asks with a pointed look at the glass of wine in Hadrian’s hand.

It’s probably a good idea, he can already feel the warmth spreading through his limbs and puts the glass down with a sheepish smile.

“Let’s,” Regulus nods and summons their cloaks. It’s a clear night, constellations easy to make out on the night sky and the biting cold manages to sober him up again.

Arcturus draws the large, runic circle around the already prepared pile of dry wood, and Sirius lights the fire. Arcturus, Cassiopeia, Lucretia, and Regulus take the focal points and do the chanting, while Hadrian and Sirius join the North and South point respectively, offering sage, pine needles, and sweetgrass to the fire.

The effects of the ritual are stronger than last year, and he thinks that it’s not only because Sirius is with them but also because they’re all more at peace with each other, and he can nearly taste the magic on his tongue, can feel it brimming under and over his skin and settle in his bones.

It’s late when they make it back inside and after another glass of wine to warm up again, they retreat to their rooms, him, Regulus, and Sirius staying at Black Manor for the night.

He’s smiling when he slips into bed, happier than he would have expected over the lack of drama this year and that Sirius spent it with them.

* * *

He spends the remaining week until New Years between Grimmauld Place and Black Manor. He and Regulus go flying a lot, he spends some time with Arcturus in his study, going over Wizengamot stuff and he asks countless questions over Runes, after Arcturus told him how important they are for spell-crafting, and continues his duelling training with Cassiopeia and Regulus.

Lucretia isn’t around much, St. Mungo’s being busier than usual over the holiday season, and Sirius spends a lot of time trying to catch up on everything he needs to know for when he takes up Hadrian’s seats next summer. It’s not only the general procedures and actual political issues he needs to get into, but also certain customs connected to the Potter, Peverell and Gryffindor lines.

Hadrian also finally starts meditating and is a bit surprised to find that he struggles more with it than expected. He has a hard time clearing his mind; sitting in silence and doing nothing inevitably leads to him going over the many things he’s working on, questions popping up and theories he wants to explore, things on his to-do list, worrying over Theo or wondering how things with Draco and the Slytherins, in general, will develop.

It frustrates him to no end, which only makes it more difficult to not think – it’s an annoying cycle and he’s not all that sure how to break out of it.

When he asks Regulus about it, he looks pensive for a moment before he smiles. “I probably shouldn’t be surprised – granted, I said that it’s probably going to come easy to you, but you do spend way too much time thinking and learning. Unfortunately, the only advice I can give you is to keep practicing. It’s not something where you can take a short-cut. But if it helps – it’s not only going to be useful for learning the Animagus Transformation, but it will help against feeling stressed as well.”

He grumbles a bit until Regulus pulls him into his side and then drags him outside to go flying, stating that he shouldn’t spend his holidays being as stressed as he is at school.

* * *

When the New Years Gala comes around, he’s still slightly on edge; if he’s honest, he wasn’t even sure they would still be invited after his fallout with Draco and their run-in with Lucius and Dobby.

He probably shouldn’t be surprised, seeing that Narcissa is a Black and, even if she wouldn’t have insisted, it would look bad for the Malfoys to not invite them. He can’t say that he’s looking forward to it though and is a bit jealous of Sirius for being able to opt-out of coming along, stating that, “I will admit that I did a lot of stupid things and so on, but I’d rather spend another night in Azkaban than set a foot into Malfoy Manor for some stuck up Pureblood Gala.”

The only thing Hadrian looks forward to is seeing his friends, especially Theo who as usual wasn’t able to really write to him over the holidays. He got some news from Daphne, but they’re all rather sure that Theo doesn’t tell any of them what is actually going on at Nott Manor.

The greeting when they arrive is even stiffer than last year, Draco barely managing to hide his glare, and he quickly lets himself be dragged off by Blaise.

“How are your holidays going?” he asks lowly, inclining his head towards Fudge but keeping a quick pace towards the other side of the room where Theo, Daphne, and Milli are standing on a small, high table.

“Good, for once my mother is actually there the whole time and it’s nice,” Blaise says with a small smile. “How about you? Did you take a break for once?”

He barely keeps from rolling his eyes but returns the smile. “Yeah, kind of. I was forced to, at least.”

It’s all going smoothly, though it’s obvious that none of the parents miss the rift between him and his friends and Draco, who’s keeping his distance and only talks to Pansy, Greg and Vince.

Thankfully, nobody says anything about it and unlike last year, there’s no confrontation or drama either. He still breathes a sigh of relief when they floo back to Grimmauld Place and is glad that he can spend the last few days of the holidays as he likes, ending with celebrating Regulus’ birthday with a few Seeker games and a large dinner over at Black Manor.

* * *

As always, the holidays are over much too soon but the impression that time is flying by doesn’t stop when they return to Hogwarts.

At the end of January, Slytherin plays against Hufflepuff and they win with 420 to 180, and this time there is no incident so he can actually join the party in the common room afterwards.

His good mood gets a damper in the middle of February; he already knows that it’s going to be an annoying day when they enter the Great Hall for breakfast on the 14th and his eyes are assaulted by way, _way_ too much pink and Lockhart waffles on and on about love, all the fan post he’s receiving and so on.

He’s just pondering if it actually counts as mistreatment of creatures, the way the dwarfs are paid to act like some sort of fairy tale joke, when one of them approaches him while they’re waiting in front of the Transfiguration classroom.

Raising an eyebrow, he looks at it disbelievingly; he’s a second year, who in Merlin’s name would send him a Valentine’s message?

He can’t help but join Blaise’s and Milli’s laughter at the poem. He’s just concluding that it must be a prank and wonders if the twins might be behind it, when he spots a small, red-headed girl storm away, rubbing her eyes.

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel about this – she’s obviously a first-year and he never noticed her before, so he’s not sure what she expected would happen, and it’s probably some very misplaced hero-worship anyway.

On the other hand, he does feel a bit sorry for her. He wouldn’t have laughed about it so publicly if he didn’t think it’s a joke, because no matter how misplaced, it’s a rather mean thing to do when the message was meant seriously.

He shoves the thought away, for the time being, seeing that he really can’t afford to not pay any attention in Transfiguration again, but when he makes his way back to the common room, he actually ponders if he should find out who she was and apologise.

The red hair would suggest she’s a Weasley and he vaguely remembers that Fred and George said something about a little sister, but then again, saying ‘I thought it was a joke’ probably isn’t much better and he also doesn’t want to give her the wrong impression.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he bumps into someone when he enters the common room and sighs when he realises it’s Draco.

“Watch where you’re going, Potter,” Draco sneers and he rolls his eyes. Really, the whole ‘Potter’ thing is just ridiculous.

“Whatever,” he waves him off and attempts to side-step him.

Draco apparently doesn’t take well to being ignored. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see him pull his wand and he groans, turning around. Apparently, they’re doing this now, and of course, nearly all of Slytherin is currently in the common room. Well then.

“Do you feel great? Having your adoring fans send you Valentine’s messages? Must feel awesome, being the hero of a Weasley,” Draco sneers with a malicious grin.

“Oh for fuck's sake,” he mutters to himself and raises a brow at Draco. “What, jealous? I’m sure you’ll be able to find another red-head.”

Draco’s face turns red and really, he should learn to not let himself be riled up so easily.

“As if, I have much higher standards than that.”

“Do you now?” he asks with a smirk and sends a pointed look at Parkinson. Maybe it’s a little mean but he’s already tired of this.

“Well, I’m sure nobody’s going to stop you from having a bunch of nice little red-headed blood-traitor children,” Draco scoffs. “After all, the standards of the Blacks are rather lacking in recent years.”

He doesn’t think about it, the curse leaves his wand before he can question if this is really a smart move, and Draco crashes into the wall behind him with a loud crack. His heart is pounding in his throat and he stalks over to him, bending down so only Draco can understand him. “You should be very careful, otherwise you might end up not only petrified, _Malfoy_.”

Draco’s eyes widen, fear joins the pain in his eyes and Hadrian flashes a short, mean grin. “Pathetic, just like your father,” he adds before he turns around and leaves the common room.

As soon as he’s out of the dungeon, regret washes over him. He shouldn’t have lost his temper so thoroughly and above all, he shouldn’t have used a spell that is more than bordering on dark.

Blaise catches up with him in the Entrance Hall but doesn’t say anything until they reach the Room of Requirements. Only when the door closes behind them, he turns towards him, a crease between his brows. “You should cast some spells to erase the evidence,” is the only thing he says with a gesture to one of the dummies.

Simply nodding, he does exactly that and when he’s finished, flops down on the couch in the corner where Blaise is already lounging, feet propped up on the low table in front of him.

“Not your smartest move,” he states, but he’s smirking. “Though rather entertaining.”

“I know,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “He had it coming, though. And it’s not like I can let him insult my family and do nothing about it.”

“True, but you could have used something a bit more… light.”

“Yeah, I _know_. Do you think he’s going to tell?” He’s not that worried if he’s honest, he just hopes that it won’t reach Dumbledore. That could get really annoying really fast.

“Probably to his father, Snape if you’re unlucky. The bigger problem is that half the house saw it and if they want to, they could try to use it as blackmail,” Blaise says thoughtfully, picking some imaginary dust from his robes.

He snorts because that would be such a huge amount of hypocrisy. “You think they would try to blackmail the Black heir because he used a spell that is bordering on dark?”

“Fair enough. Anyway, let’s duel for a bit so that you won’t lose your temper again, and then we can go back and pretend that nothing happened.”

Laughing, he gets up and takes his position, once again grateful that he has Blaise to know exactly how to prevent him from brooding.

* * *

**Hey Tom, how’s it going?**

He twirls his quill between his fingers and watches the shadows dance over the inside of his curtains in the weak light of his wands. It’s been some time since he wrote in the diary, though he never waits as long as he did over the summer.

To his surprise, it’s rather interesting to talk to Tom about various magical subjects and he started to discuss some of the books Cassiopeia sends him, and the things he found in Salazar’s study. Tom even helps with the translations from time to time, and it takes up so many of their conversations that they barely do their little question game anymore.

Right now, he only wants to distract himself. He got a note from Snape during dinner, ordering him to come to his office at 8 pm. Considering Draco’s smug grin, he has a good idea what this is about and only wonders why it took nearly a week until he got called in for it.  

_ Hello Hadrian, I’m fine. How about you? Have you finished the Sanskrit book? _

**Yeah, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to do one of the rituals in there – there’s one that can be done to protect and clean the soul from the effects dark magic can have on it. It’s a light ritual but magically powerful and I’m worried that the wards might up on it. I’d prefer to not have anybody even suspect that I’m doing any rituals whatsoever. Do you know if I could do it in the Chamber?**

There’s a pause, and it’s only now that he considers the irony of asking a soul-piece about ways to protect his own soul.

_ You should be fine, as far as I’m aware the wards don’t include the Chamber, at least not any of the monitoring wards. You still wouldn’t be able to apparate in and out of there because those wards span the perimeter like a dome, but the monitoring wards are applied by room to not include the teacher quarters for example. _

That would explain why they are a bit wonky in the Room of Requirement he thinks, smiling to himself.

**Perfect, thanks!**

He’s just about to close the book when he sees new letters appear.

_ You know, this reminds me of something, Hadrian. We didn’t do it for some time, but I’d like to return to our agreement for a moment here and ask you something that I’ve been wondering for some time now. _

Fantastic, he probably deserves it for only just thinking about it.

**You can certainly ask, but keep in mind that I’m also able to refuse to answer.**

He sighs to himself and leans back against the headboard of his bed.

_ More than once, you talked about side-effects of Horcruxes, as well as used the plural when you talked about my… other self. Could you explain what you mean? _

Figures that he would ask about it eventually.

**Okay, first of all – I’m pretty sure that you already planned to create more than one Horcrux when you made the diary, so no need to pretend otherwise. Am I right?**

It takes a while for Tom to answer but he must have realised that Hadrian won’t go on before he does. Still, a short _‘Yes,’_ is all he gets, and he snorts softly.

**Alright, so – you never thought that might be a bad idea? I mean, just how little research did you do on the whole topic? You should have been aware of just how bad of an idea it is to tamper with your soul, and the fact that there’s no record of anybody being stupid enough to create even more than one Horcrux should have been a clue.**

_ I didn’t ask you for moral judgement, did I? _

He laughs again, shakes his head and ponders for a moment if he should go on. Eventually, he decides against it because it most likely wouldn’t do him any good to antagonise him too much.

**Fair enough. Still, there are a lot of side-effects to the creation of one, not to mention several Horcruxes. Your ‘older self’ eventually went insane, to put it bluntly.**

_ What do you mean, insane? _

The answer comes quickly, letters blurring into each other and he hesitates – this is going to open a whole can of worms. Until now, they never really talked about what became of Tom – Voldemort – whatever. It had to happen eventually though and he’s kind of surprised that it took so long if he’s honest. He just has to be careful to only reveal things he can possibly know.

**Well. To answer your other question, he made six in total, and his sanity slipped somewhere in between. It ended in war eventually, decimating our society. He tortured and killed even his own followers, went crazy about blood-supremacy and invoked terror in everyone. The war ended when I was a small child though.**

It takes a long time until there’s an answer, and he can only guess that this must be rather hard to take. Still, he can’t say that he feels much sympathy, seeing that Tom brought this on himself.

_ What happened to him, then? I mean, considering he had six Horcruxes and I, at least, still exist, he can’t be dead – but you know about all of them, you could easily destroy me, and yet you don’t. It doesn’t make sense. _

Closing his eyes, he leans his head back and thinks about what to answer.

**It’s for safe-keeping. Nobody else will be able to get their hands on the diary, or any of the other Horcruxes. His body was destroyed, he’s wandering around as a wraith for the last ten years, and we will see what happens.**

It’s a half-answer, but he’s not going to explain more on the topic for now and Tom will simply have to live with that. Granted, he could tell him what they’re planning but it would throw up even more questions about his own connection –

_You’re connected to all this somehow, aren’t you? Why else would a 12-year-old have this diary, know about the Horcruxes, and be somehow immune to my powers? – The more I talk to you, the more of an enigma you become, Hadrian._

Staring at the words for some time, he eventually closes the book and puts it away, sighing to himself. He’d like to wallow in his misery for a bit longer – not that he can exactly say why it bothers him so much but he really wants to stay clear of his own history with Voldemort, and Tom somehow manages to read between the lines better than anybody else he knows.

It’s infuriating and impressive in equal measures, and it’s the reason why he’s still so wary about conversing with him. Tom might not be able to possess him or look into his mind, and Hadrian does manage to sidestep most of his attempts at manipulation and enjoys their conversations on magic, but he’s not so deluded that he doesn’t see how easily Tom can see through him and it worries him.

He just – he doesn’t even know exactly why he’s so reluctant to tell him about what happened between him and Voldemort on Samhain 1981 – not that he plans to ever tell him how he survived, seeing that it would include telling him about Death, but he doesn’t even want to tell him that he’s basically responsible for vanishing Voldemort, temporarily.

Tom will find out about it sooner or later, anyway, at the latest when they finally go through with their plan to resurrect Voldemort, but if they can help it that is still far, _far_ off in the future.

There’s a niggling voice in a corner of his mind telling him that he’s only worried that Tom won’t talk to him anymore when he eventually comes clean, but he stubbornly ignores it. It’s the same reason why he doesn’t talk to Death about it, and that niggling voice sounds suspiciously like his companion, anyway.

Sighing again, he casts a Tempus and startles when he realises that he has only five minutes to get to Snape’s office.

He groans and dispels the Sticking Charm on his curtains, throws the book into his trunk and pulls on a jumper. He’s still pissed that Draco obviously snitched on him and he’s not all that sure what he’s going to tell Snape.

It really depends on what Snape is going to confront him with, and he somehow needs to find out just how much he knows. It’s not that he thinks that Snape will run off to Dumbledore, but he would still prefer to not admit that he was the first one to cast a spell. It’s bad enough that he lost his temper so badly that he didn’t consider what spell he used in the first place.

When he walks through the common room, he rolls his eyes at Draco’s smug grin – the irony is that the idiot is keeping his distance ever since the incident, but he obviously feels safe in the assumption that Hadrian is going to get into trouble now.

He quickens his step as soon as he’s out in the corridor to not be late on top of everything else and gathers his thoughts before he knocks on the door of the office.

“Come in,” Snape’s smooth voice drawls and he pushes the door open, slipping in.

His small smile slips when he sees Dumbledore standing next to Snape. _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it and that the pacing was alright - as I said, I'm trying to wrap up second year soon, so there are a few time jumps.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your feedback!  
> And wow, I really crossed the 200k words now. Well, I did tag it slow-burn... _*coughs*_

_“Come in,” Snape’s smooth voice drawls and he pushes the door open, slipping in._

_His small smile slips when he sees Dumbledore standing next to Snape_. _Shit_.

*

He swallows but forces himself to not outwardly react to Dumbledore’s presence. “Good evening, Professor, Headmaster,” he says with a nod and comes to a halt behind the chair that’s standing in front of the desk.

“Mr. Potter-Black. Sit down, please,” Snape says, his gaze on him intense while Dumbledore watches their interaction closely.

He does as he’s told and looks between the two of them while he tries to calculate what the best approach might be here, and eventually decides to play a bit dumb. He doubts that Snape is going to buy it, but he’s the lesser problem – at least he hopes so. If it was Snape who alerted Dumbledore, there are bigger issues here than he anticipated and he should probably demand the presence of Regulus.

“Is something wrong?” he asks when neither of the two men comes forward with anything, and he catches the minuscule twitch of Snape’s lip.

Dumbledore sighs, folds his hands in front of him and stares at him over the rim of his glasses. “I got a letter from Lucius Malfoy today. Would you have any idea what it might have been about?”

Well, at least neither Draco nor Snape snitched directly he thinks, tilts his head and frowns up at Dumbledore. “Not really, Sir. I mean, I had a slight… argument with his son, about a week ago. But it was nothing serious, as I’m sure you must have suspected already, seeing that neither of us found it necessary to inform anyone.”

“I wouldn’t call it nothing serious, my dear boy,” Dumbledore admonishes, a crease between his brows. “As far as I know, you blasted him into a wall, unprovoked, and Lucius insists that it was a dark spell you used.”

He widens his eyes and leans back in his chair as if startled, but inwardly he’s seething. “That’s not true! I mean yes, he did crash into the wall but only because he pulled his wand on me, and his spell reflected off my shield and hit him instead! I don’t know if it was a dark spell, but I only cast a Protego.”

It’s not his best lie, certainly, but as long as the other Slytherin’s keep to the rules, he should be fine.

Dumbledore tilts his head, but his eyes are twinkling again and there’s a small smile tugging at his lips. He chances a look at Snape, who’s watching dispassionately and doesn’t give any indication of what he’s thinking.

“That sounds reasonable, though I’d still like to ask if I could check your wand?” Dumbledore says, and Hadrian nods, feigning eagerness. He didn’t cast a myriad of light spells for nothing, after all.

Not that he _likes_ handing his wand over, but it’s better than giving Dumbledore more reasons to keep an eye on him.

As expected, the Priori Incantatem doesn’t show anything, but Dumbledore still looks pensive when he hands it back. “There are a lot of duelling spells showing up,” he remarks, masking it like an offhand comment, but he just _knows_ that despite his rather good excuse, he has drawn Dumbledore’s interest now.

“Yes, I do a bit of training occasionally,” he answers without actually saying much.

“Was this the first time that you were attacked in Slytherin?” Dumbledore asks, suddenly looking very serious again and he tries to determine what the best answer to this is.

He gives a small smile and inclines his head. “Yes, I think it’s more a personal issue between Draco and myself. We had a… fallout, after I made the Quidditch team, and there have been some conflicts between his father and my family.”

“I see,” Dumbledore nods. “You don’t know, by any chance, anything about the petrification incident?”

He takes a slow breath and forces himself to not break eye-contact, but he would be lying if he said that he isn’t surprised about Dumbledore’s lasting suspicion. “Unfortunately not, Headmaster. Is there still no lead?”

“No, and I think it might be the reason why Lucius reacted a bit… harshly, to this recent incident. Alas, there’s not much we can do if Draco cast the spell himself. Of course, we will have to talk to him as well, but I’m afraid he will not admit to it – “

“Albus,” Snape finally speaks up, a warning note in his tone.

Hadrian glances at him, but his face is still blank, and he can’t make out his eyes as his head is turned to the Headmaster. It must be a bit complicated for him, he thinks, between his friendship with Regulus and their weird relationship, and being Draco’s godfather and at least an acquaintance to Lucius Malfoy as well.

Not that it’s his problem, really, but he does feel a bit sorry for him.

“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore says amiably and smiles at them both. “I will leave the matter in your hands then, Severus.” His eyes linger on Hadrian for a few seconds too long before he nods and leaves the office.

They sit in silence for a while until Snape clears his throat. “You are aware that your story is rather weak? It’s easy to disprove.”

He tilts his head again and watches him for a beat before he smirks faintly. “It’s not, actually. The worst that can happen is our words standing against each other. My wand is clear, and no matter what Draco says, there’s no proof either way. I mean, as long as there’s not suddenly a custom to use Pensive memories or Veritaserum to determine a culprit in a simple fight between students?”

Snape sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before he pins him with a look. “I’ll give you that, but that doesn’t change the fact that you definitely pulled unwanted attention towards yourself. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t tell the Headmaster, but I’m aware of what happened, and you might want to be more careful in the future.”

He grits his teeth and bows his head to hide his face. “Of course, Professor.”

Snape sighs. “I’m not scolding you, I just want to warn you. Don’t lose your temper like that, it’s silly.”

He slumps a bit in his chair and nods. “You’re right, of course. I just don’t get why Draco is so –“ he breaks off and gestures helplessly while pulling a grimace.

Snape snorts and bows his head. “Indeed. But you have to remember that he’s hopelessly spoiled, was brought up with the belief that he’s going to be the best at everything and basically on top of the world. He’s jealous.”

“Yeah well, I don’t get my achievements handed on a silver platter either,” he grinds out. It’s not like he doesn’t know that, he just doesn’t see why he should deal with it on top of everything else just because Draco wants to behave like an immature, little prick. “Also, he’s only digging himself a deeper grave. The other Slytherins won’t take too kindly to him breaking the most important rule of the house.”

“Indeed, and I assume that Lucius must still be very mad about his lost house-elf to not consider this. I’m not sure what he tried to achieve here, he must be aware that he can only make it worse for himself if he antagonises your family too much,” Snape says and for the first time since he entered the office, his Professor looks immensely exasperated. “That being said, I’m uncertain if Draco insisted or if it was Lucius’ doing.”

He shrugs and watches his wand twirl between his fingers. “I’m not going to keep this from Regulus, and then he and the rest of the clan can decide how they want to deal with it. It’s a bit complicated because of Narcissa, but I’m sure they’re going to agree with me that it wouldn’t be smart to just let this pass.”

“I’m sure,” Snape says dryly but he’s smiling faintly. “Though I’d advise you to be careful. Dumbledore was already watching you closely before this, and it’s only going to be worse now. Not because he cares much about Draco – “

“I know,” he interrupts but quickly snaps his mouth shut when he realises what he did.

Snape merely sighs again though. “See that you get some rest. No wonder you lose your temper.”

He raises an amused brow but chooses not to comment; he’s not sure just how much Snape is aware of his general workload, but it’s rather touching that he apparently cares, at least to some degree.

There’s still a question left. “I was wondering – didn’t the wards pick up on the spell?”

Snape looks surprised before he scowls. “Of course you would know about the wards. All I’m going to say is that it’s a bit… difficult, to determine when spells that are neither strictly dark nor light are cast in Slytherin. Dumbledore basically gave up on the house, anyway, so he doesn’t bother if it doesn’t get out of hand.”

He snorts and grins. “Never thought Dumbledore’s prejudices would come in handy.”  

“Off you go, write to Regulus and try to not start another fight,” Snape says with an exasperated shake of his head, but there’s amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Of course, Professor. And thank you.”

“Whatever for?” Snape says with a small smirk that he returns before he slips out of the door.

He leans against the rough stone-wall in the corridor and closes his eyes for a moment. He might have kept his cool, but it was annoyingly close. Not to mention that there’s still the whole issue of Tom’s questions lingering in the back of his mind and that he needs to come up with a strategy for how he’s going to deal with Draco.

When he’s feeling calmer again, he walks back into the common room and carefully keeps his face blank until he flops onto the couch next to Blaise, gives a deep sigh and closes his eyes for a moment, soaking in the warmth of the fire.

“How did it go?” Daphne asks and he cracks one eye open to look at her where she’s sitting in the armchair to his right.

“Guess who thought he would get away with snitching on me?” he asks and kicks his shoes off, so that he can throw his feet into Blaise’s lap, who merely rolls his eyes at him but doesn’t protest.

“No way,” Theo says, leaning forward in his chair and looking into the direction of Draco, who’s watching them not nearly as inconspicuously as he thinks he does.

He hums in response. “Well, at least he did to Daddy dearest. I’m not sure who of the two came up with it, but one of them thought it would be a good idea to tell Dumbledore about it.”

“What – are you serious?!” Blaise speaks up for the first time, his face suddenly hard and his eyes blazing while his hand clenches around Hadrian’s ankle.

He smiles at the anger of his friends on his behalf and shrugs. “Well, I told Dumbledore that I simply shielded myself and he got hit by his own curse, and there’s no evidence on my wand that contradicts that. As long as the other Slytherin’s keep their mouths shut…”

Daphne tilts her head and lets her eyes travel through the common room, but it’s Tracey who speaks up. “Even ignoring our rules, I think they will. They still all think it’s been you who was responsible for Draco’s petrification, you’re on the Quidditch team and, most importantly, none of them can afford getting into trouble with the Black family. The position of the Malfoy family is a bit different in that regard, but – “

A scoff from Theo interrupts her. “Please, it’s not. The Blacks could completely eradicate them if they wanted. The Malfoys aren’t an old family of England, their seat on the Wizengamot is bought and Lucius’ wife is a Black – which is a fail-safe to some degree but from a certain point onwards it’s more of a liability. I don’t know just how much patience they have left, but I honestly don’t think it’s much. It’s not exactly a trait they’re known for. No offence.”

“None taken,” he waves him off with a smirk. “I think that Regulus will talk to Narcissa first, the two of them are close. But if she doesn’t manage to reign her son and husband in, it might get ugly rather fast, you’re right in that regard. It’s just –“ he hesitates for a moment and bites his lip before continuing. “It’s simply ridiculous, just because Draco didn’t become Seeker and well, Dobby, but I don’t get how they can risk so much over such nonsense.”

“It’s a matter of pride,” Daphne says with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s still stupid and hot-headed, but especially losing their elf to you is probably pretty humiliating and I don’t think Lucius would have bothered otherwise.”

“Sure, I get that, but he must know that we can easily dismantle his whole reputation. Scratch that, his whole life.”

“He probably doesn’t think you or at least the adults would go that far,” Blaise says thoughtfully, eyes straying back to Draco.

“Did he meet us?” Hadrian says with a laugh. “Nevermind, let’s forget about it until I wrote to Regulus. I’m going to keep ignoring Draco for the time being, I need to be careful because Dumbledore is going to watch me closely, and Draco is going to be pissed enough when he realises that I didn’t get into trouble and that it’s now his word against mine.”

* * *

_25/02/1993_

_Dear Hadrian,_

_Oh Merlin, what a disaster. I can’t believe Lucius honestly did that – I mean granted, I never pegged him as the brightest Lumos, but that’s stupid even for him._

_I’ve met with Narcissa after I got your letter. Believe me when I say that she was not amused over what her husband is getting up to and promised me to have a talk with him. It’s all a bit complicated though – she didn’t take too kindly to the story with Dobby, although she did understand why I did it. Either way, it’s all a bit strained at the moment._

_Nonetheless, Arcturus and, most of all, Cassiopeia were furious and I’m sure this is not the end of it. But Cassiopeia is still travelling, and we need to think about just what consequences we want to implement. We’d rather avoid causing ‘Cissa unnecessary trouble, so it’s a bit tricky. We might consider measures to diminish Lucius’ influence in the Ministry, which would also have an effect on Draco’s reputation in Slytherin, so that would be a good strategy. It would also further the influence of the Blacks, so strategically it would have a nice touch, don’t you think?_

_It wouldn’t affect their reputation altogether though, rather be seen as a move for power on our behalf, so Cissa would keep her favourite pastimes of socialising. Let me know what you think about it._

_She also said that it was most likely Lucius’ idea to involve Dumbledore, so maybe don’t be too hard on Draco – only in that regard, of course. It will do him some good to learn that there are consequences to his actions and I’m definitely not saying that you’re supposed to make any effort for him._

_On another note, Cassiopeia asked me to include a few things from her, as she’s currently in Spain and it’s easier to not send too many owls. You’ll find the letter behind this one, as well as some ingredients she told me to send you. Don’t get caught, kiddo._

_How are you, besides annoying, spoiled little brats and nosy Headmaster’s? It’s unlike you to lose your temper like this. I’m worried._

_Take care,_

_Regulus_

_*_

_Girona, 23/02/93_

_Dear Hadrian,_

_How are you doing? Spain is treating me well, although I have to admit that the idiocy of Lucius Malfoy put a damper on my mood, at least for a day. I hope you didn’t let it bother you for too long either, he’s simply not worth it. I sometimes wonder if whining is a questionable line-gift of the Malfoys._

_On to more interesting topics; I finally gathered enough evidence for the lawsuit against Lockhart. It should reach the Wizengamot at the same time this letter reaches you. I’m not only telling you this so you can celebrate though. Seeing that my research is going hand in hand with the investigation of the Board of Governors that Arcturus arranged, it might be possible that some students will be questioned._

_As is the norm, they will be picked from all houses and years – the reason I’m telling you this is that you should try to persuade Snape to choose students that aren’t, let us say, ‘blended’ by certain award-winning smiles (I shudder thinking of it. In my time a bland smile certainly wasn’t enough to make us ignore blinding incompetence.)_

_I’m not sure how much influence you would have on other houses and years, but from what I know about Severus Snape from you and Regulus, I’m certain he will be open to suggestions._

_Last but not least, I also included the ingredients necessary for the soul-cleaning ritual. Know that I am not judging you, but I suspect that your surprisingly short temper might be a side-effect from your practice of darker magic. Do the ritual, kiddo. Just don’t get caught._

_Until soon,_

_Cassiopeia_

*

Putting both letters down, he shakes out the envelope and inspects the little pouch that’s holding the ingredients he will need. It’s probably lucky that none of them need to be fresh if Cassiopeia sent them all the way from Spain.

After he made sure that everything is in good condition, he puts it away and skims both letters again, smiling to himself. Regulus basically confirmed what he already told his friends, and if he’s honest he’s kind of glad that the whole issue won’t get blown up even more than it already is.

Cassiopeia’s news about Lockhart are brilliant though. His patience is getting thinner with each passing day, and he can’t wait to see his face when he realises that he has been found out.

He suppresses the urge to search out Snape immediately, deciding that it can wait until after Potions the next day, and turns towards Neville and the twins instead.

They’re all sitting in a corner of the library, doing homework or personal research, and he flicks his wand to throw up a Silencing Charm, just to be safe.

“Something important?” George asks with a curious look as he pushes the big book he has been reading away from him, the gesture so eager that Hadrian snorts softly.

“Did I tell you about the investigation concerning Lockhart?”

Neville looks up as well, eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes, but why are you looking so disgustingly smug all of a sudden?”

His grin broadens and he leans back in his chair. “My, Neville, you’re becoming observant,” he teases before turning serious. “Cassiopeia found evidence that he has been obliviating people and taking credit for their achievements. But the investigation is led by the Board of Governors, so they’re going to question students about his competence. Not all of them – the Heads of the houses will decide whom. All I’m saying is that it would be preferable if students that aren’t writing him love letters every week were to give the statements.”

Fred and George both get a slightly mean gleam in their eyes and quickly nod. “I’m sure McGonagall is going to want the same thing; we’re going to spread the word and maybe convince Percy to propose some fitting candidates to her.”

“Brilliant,” he grins in response. “Maybe ask Granger, Neville? I’m sure she realised by now that he’s a bad teacher.”

Neville nods and makes a note at the side of his parchment. “As we’re talking about Head of Houses,” he starts, shifting in his chair. “Did Snape give you your forms for the election of the new subjects yet?”

Hadrian groans, because he’s been sitting over that bloody thing for hours already, and none of his friends are of much help. “Yes, but it’s – I mean, I’m going to take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, obviously, but I would also like to do Care for Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies, and I’m not sure I’d be able to do all of them.”

“As if you would have problems,” Neville says with fond exasperation.

“That’s not what I mean,” he grumbles, pulling out the sheet from between his notes. “It’s more about the issue of courses taking place at the same time.”

“Honestly, we just took Divination and Care, it’s both easy,” Fred says and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah well – “

“We know,” they chorus before he can finish his sentence, and he flicks a piece of parchment at both of them.

“What about you Neville?” he asks, staring down at his sheet with a glare.

“I only decided on Care yet. I’m not sure if I could handle Runes or Arithmancy – “

“Of course you could,” he interrupts and directs his glare at Neville but quickly softens it when Neville raises his hands. “Sorry. But seriously, you could if you want to. And it’s both useful, at least way more than Divination. It can’t be taught if you don’t have any talent and as far as I know, Trelawny doesn’t teach stuff that’s useful even without the inner eye, so it boils down to making up shit.”

Well, and he just hates her a bloody lot for putting that blasted Prophecy on his back just so she would get a job, which is why he wouldn’t take the subject either way, least he’d end up hexing her, but it’s not like he’s going to tell that to anyone.

“It’s an easy O, though,” George pipes up and Hadrian rolls his eyes.

“It’s a waste of time, is what it is. If you have to sit through a lesson anyway, at least choose something that is useful to you.”

“Boring,” they chorus again with bright grins and he can’t help his fond smile at their antics.

“Anyway, come on. Take Runes with us Neville, it’s really useful and all of us will take it. If you want to, that is, no pressure,” he adds with a grin. He sometimes forgets that Neville still sometimes gets hung up about saying no, but right now he only grins.

“You’re probably right, and at least I’ll have you to help me out,” Neville says and makes a cross at ‘Ancient Runes.’

“How very Slytherin of you,” Blaise speaks up from Hadrian’s other side. “Now we just need to find a way to dissuade this one,” he pokes his thumb into Hadrian’s side, who hisses in annoyance, “from taking all the bloody subjects. Especially Muggle studies, I mean come on.”

“Good luck,” he says dryly and waves his parchment in front of Blaise, where every subject except Divination is crossed. “Just because I lived a few years with Muggles, doesn’t mean I know everything there is to know. And it’s important.”

Blaise just shakes his head at him and returns to his homework.

* * *

He waits until the weekend to finally do the ritual. As he did the last time, he sneaks out of his dorm after Blaise and Theo long since fell asleep and makes his way up to the entrance of the Chamber.

“Hey Myrtle,” he greets her quietly after he locked the door and threw up a Silencing Charm.

She floats closer and circles around him for a moment. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she giggles. “Naughty boy.”

“Psst,” he grins at her before he turns towards the sink.

Death is waiting for him in the main chamber, leaning against one of the pillars like he belongs there. “Hey there, little one. Did you leave Atana?”

“She’s still complaining about the cold, and it’s worse down here. It’s not like she would be helpful for this,” he says while he puts down his things and gets the chalk and the book out of his bag. “Are you going to help me? It’s my first time doing a runic circle and it uses a combination of Sanskrit and runes, so I’m rather wary about doing it wrong.”

“Didn’t you practice it beforehand?” Death asks but walks over to stand next to him as he crouches down.

“Of course I did,” he sighs, eyes fixed on the book. “But I had to be careful that nobody sees it, and then I can’t ask anyone if I did it right. I could only compare it to the book.”

Death hums. “You could have done it in the diary?” he offers, and Hadrian doesn’t miss the shrewd tone of his voice.

He snorts and cranes his neck to look up at him. “First of all, since when do you approve of that particular relation? And then, how is he supposed to know if it’s completely correct?”

Death just gives a half-shrug. “Just saying, he could have pointed out differences.”

“Yeah well, I’m not talking to him,” he grumbles and focuses his attention back on the book.

“Why?” Death asks just when he thought they were through with the rather uncomfortable topic of Tom.

Resigning himself to not getting out of this particular discussion, he sighs and closes the book before he crosses his legs underneath him and leans back on his hands. “He asked about Voldemort and when I told him about the effects of the Horcruxes, the war, and his eventual downfall, he caught on to the fact that I have a connection to his older self somehow. I’m not that keen to tell him that it’s basically my fault Voldemort is dead – vanished, whatever.”

“Hm, don’t you think that you should tell him?” Death asks with his head tilted and sounding like he’s supposed to know exactly why he should.

“And why? It’s not like he needs to know.” He’s aware that he must sound petulant, but he can’t help it, and it’s not like Death doesn’t know him well enough anyway.

“Well. I understand that it’s going to be uncomfortable for you but consider this – if you tell him, you also have to tell him about what Regulus did. Now, that’s likely to make him even angrier at first, but in the long run, it’s only going to be helpful. When you finished the resurrection ritual, he will probably take better to the whole matter if he already knows about it and at least a part of him had time to see the reasoning behind it,” Death explains calmly, one hand resting on the back of Hadrian’s head who closes his eyes in resignation when he realises how right he is.

“Salazar, I didn’t even think of that,” he groans and rubs his temples. “Anyway, can we start now? I need to think about this, but I’d prefer to do it after the ritual because I’m going to need my concentration.”

Death chuckles, the sound echoing in the vast room. “Of course. One more thing though, as you’re talking about concentration – how is the meditating going.”

He groans again and hangs his head for a moment. “Are you set on annoying me tonight? It’s – well. Could be better, could be worse. I manage to clear my mind by now, but it still takes me a long time to actually get there. On that note, thank you so much that I don’t have to learn Occlumency, the more I read about it, the more like a pain it sounds.”

“Don’t thank me,” Death says with a shake of his head. “You would have a natural inclination to it as you do with other branches of mind magic, I think that I protect your mind for you is rather counter-productive in this regard. If you had to learn it from early on, it would have been easier for you.”

“Then why didn’t you make me?” he asks in confusion, frowning up at him.

Death sighs. “Because no matter how early I would have started you on that, you would have never been good enough at 11 to withstand the attack of a skilled Legilimens.”

“Fair enough,” he says with a shrug. “Not everything can come to me naturally, at least I have something to bite my teeth into. On the same matter – shall we start?” he asks with a small grin, his mood already a bit better.

“Go on then, I’ll tell you when you make a mistake.”

It takes him a few tries, but eventually he manages to draw a flawless runic circle and he distributes the Ashwinder eggs, Unicorn hair, Boom Berries, and the Dittany mixed with silver on the focal points and sets them on fire, before he shrugs off his outer robes and kneels in the middle.

He feels sure in his knowledge of the chant and closes his eyes after one last look at Death before he starts the low murmur in Sanskrit.

_Goddess of magic,_

_I’m calling on you tonight_

_In a plead to grant me protection and strength_

_To clean my soul of that not natural_

_In a plead to grant me purity and calm_

_To clean my soul from the remains of your gift you granted me_

_And the price I willingly pay to use it._

_Take my offerings, take my willingness_

_So I thank you and honour you_

_Goddess of magic_

The effect is different from anything he’s experienced with rituals until now. It doesn’t feel like the magic is rising around him or even filters outside of him, but he can feel it stir deep within him like it’s twisting and wrapping around a small point within his chest.

For a moment, it scares him; the weight that’s settling in his middle, but he forces himself to stay focused and keep chanting, and he quickly becomes aware of the warmth that’s spreading through him, reminding him of the particular feeling of home.

It’s also not as exhausting as rituals usually tend to be, but it’s not energizing either. It’s impossible to describe really, apart from a sense of deep, sated calm that takes a hold of him, and when he finished the 5th iteration of the chant and blinks his eyes open, he notes that he’s smiling softly.

“Wow, that was… interesting,” he murmurs and moves his arms and legs carefully. The feeling is comparable to waking up after a really good night of sleep when you bury a bit deeper into the covers for a few moments before getting up because it’s just so damn comfortable.

“It is a curious ritual,” Death speaks up, his voice unmistakable fond. “You should get to bed though. You don’t feel as tired as you do after other rituals, but it does take strength in a different way, and it’s important that you rest so that your soul can settle.”

He hums, and after a moment decides to clean up another day – it’s not like anyone but him comes down here, and he really feels like going to bed right now.

* * *

The next two months fly by without anything particularly interesting happening, though it’s impossible for him to deny that he’s much more even-tempered and calmer since the ritual. Well, that’s not strictly true; somehow, Arcturus managed to cut off Lucius Malfoy’s influence on Fudge, and that, combined with the knowledge of Draco telling on him spreading in Slytherin, makes Draco even more of an outcast than he was before.

At least both father and son apparently finally comprehended that confrontation is not the way to go, and Hadrian doesn’t spare much thought on the topic anymore.

He didn’t forget what Death said about Tom and Regulus, but after he considered it, he came to the conclusion that it really isn’t something he can decide by himself and decided to leave the diary alone until he’s home for the summer and can talk it through with Regulus.

It surprises him a bit that he actually finds that he misses talking to Tom – not even big things, but he sometimes catches himself read something intriguing or come up with a theory, and thinking that he needs to write Tom about it because he would definitely have interesting thoughts on it.

Seeing that he can’t do it right now, he notes those things down for later, and just hopes that Tom won’t be too angry about his negligence and the little issue of him vanishing his counterpart, and so on.

Still, mostly thanks to the ritual, it doesn’t bother him too much and he focuses on finishing his necessary studies for the Wizengamot, doing his research for the Potion tutoring with Snape where they’re currently working on a defensive potion, his meditation, duelling practice and also, Quidditch.

The last game of the season is approaching quickly and regardless of them being in the lead, Flint is running them ragged. It does pay off when they flatten Ravenclaw with 470 to 210, and he doesn’t bother to hide his self-satisfaction about catching the Snitch every single game.

It’s the beginning of May when he gets a letter from Cassiopeia, telling him that the investigation of Lockhart is coming to a close. Over the last few weeks, several students from all houses were called into questioning, though Snape argued that he won’t choose him personally because it would look bad, seeing that he was one of the reasons the investigation was started in the first place.

Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and Milli were called in though and told him that it wasn’t all that interesting – questions about the DADA lessons and their general impression of Lockhart mostly, and if they ever noticed something particularly strange.

All things considered, Cassiopeia’s letter that Lockhart is going to be arrested the next day isn’t much of a surprise but he’s still unable to help his smug smirk all through the defence lesson that morning.

It freezes on his face when Lockhart calls for him to stay behind after class. He exchanges a glance with Blaise, who mutters a low, “I’ll wait for you,” before he leaves the room with a frown.

He can’t say that he’s exactly worried, but he watches Lockhart closely anyway. If he learned one thing since starting Hogwarts, it’s to not be too sure of himself. He walks to the front of the class and leans against one of the desks, crossing his ankles and keeping his arms loosely at his sides, while the rest of the students filter out of the room.

Lockhart’s bright expression slips as soon as the door closes and he folds his arms over his chest. “So, I heard your family prompted a lawsuit against me.”

Straight to the chase, then. He doesn’t say anything though, just gives a small shrug with one shoulder and smiles faintly.

“Of course, I don’t have anything to be concerned about,” Lockhart goes on confidently, but his posture is tense. “Nevertheless, I thought I would propose a… let’s call it an agreement.”

He coughs to cover his snort and raises a disbelieving brow at him. “Did you, now? And what were you thinking of, Professor?”

Lockhart’s eyes narrow and he clears his throat. “Well, you see. I’m sure it would be beneficial to my case, you know, shorten the process, if you were to put in a good word for me. The brilliant Professor of your second year, and all that,” he waves a hand, seemingly finding his confidence again. “In return, I would be willing to support you, help you build your fanbase and show you how to handle and expand your fame.”

This time, he doesn’t manage to cover his laugh, and he shakes his head in astonishment. “Excuse me, but are you serious?” he finally manages, unable to believe that despite everything, Lockhart is not only so incredibly sure of himself but actually thinks that he can _bribe_ him.

“Of course! I understand that it’s a big honour – “

“Stop,” he interrupts, one hand raised. “Please, spare us both. I will be frank with you because I think after my Professor just tried to bribe me, I can do without the appropriate respect. I have neither any intention to help you nor to – how to call it? Use your services. Hell, I wouldn’t want to even if I actually cared about my fame. You made your bed and now you will have to lie in it, it’s as simple as that. Now excuse me, please, I need to grab some lunch.”

With that, he pushes himself off the desk and walks towards the door, still trying to wrap his head around the sheer audacity. He’s nearly at the door when he hears the quiet, “Obliviate,” behind himself.

He whirls around and throws a Shield Charm up at the same time, but he’s too slow; the spell connects with his chest a second before his shield covers him completely.

His heart skips a beat and he stares in horror, feels the spell tug at his mind – but nothing happens, and after another second, he laughs, the sound slightly hysterical, and stares down at his hand where the Black heir ring is gleaming and heated against his skin.

“This,” he growls, when his mind catches up with everything, “Was a _very_ stupid thing to do.”

After watching Lockhart’s dumbfounded face for another moment, he flicks his fingers to stun him and, without taking his eyes off him, pulls the door open behind himself. “Blaise?”

“Yeah?” he feels more than anything else as Blaise steps up behind him.

“Could you get Professor Snape, please? Lockhart just tried to Obliviate me – after he tried to bribe me, that is.”

“Are you – Nevermind, give me a second,” Blaise mutters, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

It doesn’t take long until he’s back with Snape in tow, who only stares down at Lockhart’s still form for long moments before he turns and pins Hadrian with a look. “Alright, what happened?”

He gives a brief summary of the last twenty minutes and Snape’s expression turns increasingly angry until his lips are pressed into a thin line and his eyes gleaming maliciously.

“I will need to inform the Headmaster and you should probably give your memory of the incident to the Aurors. I’d propose you accompany me to his office. Obviously, we will call Regulus as well,” he eventually says, and Hadrian gives a small sigh but nods.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” he directs at Blaise, who’s watching the whole thing with slight amusement.

“Sure,” he grins. “Don’t knock out any more professors, yeah? I’ll get you some lunch.”

He only barely keeps himself from sending a Stinging Hex at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, thoughts on the Malfoys? And Lockhart? :D


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your feedback!! <3 
> 
> Some readers pointed out that I mentioned the existence of seven Horcruxes in Ch. 36 which is, of course, wrong, as Voldemort created Nagini only in Harry's fourth year. It honestly just slipped my mind, and I'm going to go back and change it to the correct six - so yeah, not a conscious change or anything on my part, in case anybody thought that! Thank you for pointing it out. <3

“I know we have talked about this a few times already, but I still can’t believe that Lockhart actually tried to Obliviate you,” Regulus mutters, his hand tightening around the mug he’s holding and his face set into hard lines.

Hadrian shrugs in response and leans back into the comfortable couch, soaking in the warmth that’s coming from the fireplace. He just got home for the summer holidays, and he had this exact conversation with various people over the last few weeks.

Not that he doesn’t agree, but from some point onwards, it becomes slightly repetitive. “I know, but he didn’t succeed and at least it’s going to cut his case cleaner than it would have been, otherwise,” he says, but squeezes Regulus’ arm for a moment.

He still remembers vividly how furious Regulus was when he arrived at Dumbledore’s office, and it was most likely only thanks to Snape that he didn’t curse the man on the spot.

“Well, I’d rather have him without conviction than your mind messed with,” Regulus scoffs, and his eyes are flashing with fury as intensely as on the day it happened.

He smiles faintly. “I know, but as I said, he wasn’t successful, and he’s going to rot in Azkaban for a long time, which is fantastic!”

There’s a short flicker of a grimace on Regulus’ face and he stays silent for some time, his eyes fixed on the fire as all the anger seems to melt away. “You know, Azkaban really isn’t something to take lightly. Don’t get me wrong, he deserves a penalty and had it coming with everything he did, but – regardless of his, or anybody else’s crimes, being subjected to Dementors for 24 hours a week… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” he says quietly, and there’s a crease between his brows while his lips are pursed into a thin line.

“Well, he shouldn’t have – “

“Har,” Regulus interrupts him, his tone suddenly sharp and his eyes boring into his. “You never really met one, much less several Dementors, but believe me when I say that you can consider yourself very lucky that you didn’t.”

He swallows and tilts his head while his hands turn around his mug of coffee restlessly. It’s very rare that Regulus gets this stern and serious with him, and he has the impression that there’s more behind it than a question of ethics. “Does this have something to do with Sirius’ stay in – “

Regulus sighs again and sits up straighter, and his face clouds over even more. It’s not really anger though, more something close to grief and regret, maybe. “Yes, and no, it’s…” he trails off again, hesitation written in every line of his posture, but eventually he smiles wryly and looks back at him. “I had a very good… _friend_ when I went to school, the only actual friend I probably had who didn’t flock to me because of my name, or whatever.”

His eyes become distant and Hadrian waits patiently for him to continue, wondering where this is going.

“His name was Barty, he was a bit younger than me and in Ravenclaw, and – well. His father was Crouch, you know, who was also responsible for Sirius’ lack of trial, and the man is as callous and ruthless as they come. To the next-best wizard as much as to his own son. When I started to get involved with the Death Eaters at sixteen, he caught on to it fairly quickly, and he was curious. I was still convinced that it’s a good cause, back then, and liked the thought of having him there with me. It didn’t take them long to develop an interest in Barty as well when I started to mention him occasionally.”

Regulus swallows harshly and takes a sip of his coffee, and there’s a slight tremble in his hands. “He was smart, brilliant really, easily one of the bests in our year. He lapped the whole thing up like water in a desert – suddenly, he belonged somewhere, was praised and respected, had a purpose. That it was the exact same thing his father was fighting against was like an extra bonus.”

“You blame yourself,” he says softly and carefully puts a hand on Regulus’ shoulder, getting a mirthless smile in response.

“Of course I do, I pulled him into it. He became very fanatic, and after Voldemort’s downfall, he, Bellatrix, her husband and his brother tried to get information. Another Death Eater gave up their names, there was a huge political scandal because Crouch Sr. was the Head of the DMLE and had ambitions to become the next Minister which was supported by many people at the time and, well. He sent his own son to Azkaban – “

Regulus breaks off again and he can see the muscle in his jaw jump, his hands are clenched tightly into fists and his face is pale. Hadrian wants nothing more than to ease some of the tension, but he knows that he can’t do anything about things that happened over a decade ago.

“He died there, only one or two years later. Sirius said that he was in the cell next to him and – well, to be honest, you don’t need to hear that, but it wasn’t nice.” He shakes his head roughly as if to dispel the thoughts and slumps back into the sofa. “Anyway, what I mean to say is – I know that he deserved his punishment for the things he did, and he did an awful lot of terrible things. I’m sure that I don’t even know the half of it, considering that I mostly worked in the Department of Mysteries already – but still, I don’t think that he deserved Azkaban. I don’t think _anybody_ deserves that, not even Bellatrix, and let me tell you that there’s no love lost.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry,” he says, mulling all of it over in his mind. “I know that I have no way to actually judge what happened, but I don’t think that you should blame yourself. You might have acted as some sort of trigger for his initiation and eventual fanatism, but if he was as brilliant as you said, they most likely would have tried to recruit him either way and in the end, it was still his decision.”

Regulus exhales in a rush and runs a hand over his face, but he gives him a small, honest smile. “Maybe you’re right, maybe not, who knows. It’s not like I can change anything about it now, and at least he’s not still rotting there, as bitter as it sounds.”

He hums in response and they fall silent for a while until he remembers something else he needs to talk to him about. For a moment, he watches him closely, tries to gauge if it’s a good idea to bring it up right now, but while Regulus still looks pensive, he doesn’t think that he would like it better if Hadrian put the conversation off for longer.

“You know how I’m still talking to the diary, from time to time?” he speaks up eventually but takes care to avoid Regulus’ eyes.

“Yeah, how’s that going?”

He pulls a grimace and stares into his coffee. “He asked me about Voldemort, you know, what happened to him and all that. I held it brief, but he drew his own conclusions and said that he thinks that there’s a connection to me. I stopped writing to him ever since, I think that was in February, maybe?”

Regulus tilts his head and nods slowly. “He’s going to find out eventually, anyway. No matter how much we draw out the actual resurrection, he’s going to have all his memories when we finally do it, and – “

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupts with a small grin before Regulus can get on another tangent about the intricate workings of the ritual. “Death said something along the same lines. But he also said something else – that it would make sense to already tell him about what you did so that at least one part of him has time to get used to the idea and see the reasoning behind it. It would lessen the chance of an immense fit of rage when he realises that you basically betrayed him, which would be more disastrous with a body at his disposal. As you said, a part of him would have had time to see the reasons for it, then.”

Regulus pales slightly and frowns, but he seems to think about it and sighs after a few moments. “Well, I can’t say that I’m particularly fond of the idea, but it does make sense. The chance that he will never find out what I did is basically non-existent, and it’s not as if a diary that doesn’t have any access to your mind can do anything about it, so it’s probably a smart move.”

“Yeah… So, you’re alright with it? Because then I’m going to explain some of it to him soon. I mean, about the prophecy, the death of my parents, and that you discovered the Horcruxes,” he says, ignoring the vague sense of dread the idea gives him. Regulus is right, after all – it’s not like the diary can do anything to him, and seeing that he’s not talking to Tom now, it wouldn’t even make much of a difference if Tom refuses to talk to him at all, afterwards.

“As long as you stay careful to not lose it under any circumstances…” Regulus says and gives a resigned shrug.

He quickly shakes his head. “I always put it into Death’s book when I don’t use it, and only I can open it without – well. Dying.”

Regulus snorts and ruffles his hair. “Alright then. What are you going to say if he asks you how you survived?”

“That nobody has any idea whatsoever? I don’t plan to tell him about Death, and I’m also not sure if I should mention that I’m a Horcrux, or that we actually plan to resurrect him.”

“You should tell him the last part, at least. It might lessen his anger at both of us, which can only work in our advantage,” Regulus says, but there’s a deep crease between his brows and he looks thoughtful. “As for the Horcrux in you… I wouldn’t tell him, yet. Granted, you could argue that it might serve as a kind of insurance for your life, but it’s also possible that he would try to lock you up as soon as he’s resurrected to make sure that nothing happens to you because you will be his last Horcrux – assuming that we don’t get rid of it beforehand, anyway.”

He can’t help the shudder that shakes him at the image. “I didn’t think of that, but you’re right. Let’s just hope that everything goes as planned and we still have a few years to make that particular decision.”

* * *

A few days later, they floo into the Ministry early in the morning for Lockhart’s trial.

Originally, Hadrian wasn’t meant to attend, but after Lockhart’s attempt to Obliviate him, he’s been summoned to appear as a witness. Not that he minds, if he’s honest, he’s rather keen to see the man face the consequences of his actions.

Of course, he did consider what Regulus said about Azkaban carefully and spent a bit of his time to read up on Dementors, which led him to the conclusion that he’s most likely right, and he’s resolved to not be too gleeful about a possible prison sentence. Regardless of the inhumanity that is Azkaban, it’s time that Lockhart is taken down a notch, even if it’s only his sacred reputation that takes the brunt.

After all, he still shudders when he thinks how close he came to have his mind messed with.

The only thing he’s a bit disappointed about is that Arcturus won’t be sitting as Chief Warlock today, seeing that he’s personally involved in the case, but he consoles himself with the knowledge that after his birthday, he’s allowed to visit Wizengamot sessions, anyway.

The Ministry is crammed with people, there are reporters at every corner and, to his great surprise and amusement, a small mob of middle-aged women, obviously here to support their idol, or whatever it is they see Lockhart as.

Arcturus and Cassiopeia are waiting for them at the floos and between the three of the adults, they get through the crowded Atrium surprisingly quick. People are scrambling out of their way as if they’re scared to pull attention to themselves, and he’s not sure if it’s the tall, imposing posture, the name ‘ _Black’_ and its notoriety or the general air of self-confidence and power they seem to radiate. Probably a bit of all three.

It’s slightly funny and very impressive, and he has to force himself to not smirk smugly to himself all the way down to Level 9.

“Alright, kiddo, I’ll see you after the trial, yeah?” Regulus murmurs to him when they enter the courtroom and squeezes his shoulder for a moment before he disappears up the stands to where the family seats are located.

Arcturus and Cassiopeia steer him towards the first row of seats where the witnesses are to sit, and he lets his eyes sweep through the room, lingering on the Dementors that are positioned on the far side of the room for a moment.

Somehow, he doesn’t really remember them from Sirius’ trial beyond the knowledge that they were there and even now, he can’t feel any effect from them.

“Look up,” Cassiopeia says, having obviously followed the direction of his gaze and when he does as he’s told, he can see several misty-white animals stroll underneath the ceiling, a few feet away from the Dementors. Now that he’s paying attention, he notes that the Dementors keep floating forwards until they seem to reach an invisible barrier, and he watches the repetitive scene for long moments.

“It’s called the Patronus Charm, the only thing that’s able to defend you against a Dementor. It’s a strange case of light, and very powerful magic,” she explains and he catalogues the knowledge away for later.

“Why is it a strange case of light magic?” he asks because it’s the one thing he’s too curious about to wait for, despite the dropping noise level around them, and Cassiopeia smiles knowingly.

“Because it’s powered by emotions. Happy memories, to be precise, but you need to actually let yourself feel them to be able to cast it. What’s most peculiar about it though, is that most dark wizards have great difficulties to accomplish the spell, although you would expect the opposite to be true.”

Before he can ask further questions that he desperately wants to know the answer to, his attention gets pulled towards the front of the courtroom when Amelia Bones calls for order, and he smiles faintly at the memory of how she handled Sirius’ trial.

She reads the order of business and then calls for the Aurors to bring in Lockhart. The man looks surprisingly horrible for the one month he has been in custody, so much so that Hadrian has to look twice to recognise the polished teacher he, unfortunately, got used to over the last year. His hair is messy and dull, his face pale and gaunt, and his whole posture basically screams defeat.

Hadrian thinks that, if the man didn’t try to wipe his mind, he might have felt some actual sympathy, and Regulus’ words about Azkaban come back to him.

Lockhart is dropped into the chair unceremoniously, but unlike with Sirius, he’s not bound by the shackles that are fixed to the rough stone, only the two Aurors that brought him in remaining at his sides. A third man steps up, wearing dress robes and a haughty expression, with hair slicked to his head and a pointy face, and introduces himself as Lockhart’s lawyer.

Cassiopeia makes an annoyed hissing noise under her breath but shakes her head slightly when Hadrian sends her a questioning look. “Later,” she whispers, and he nods in acceptance.   

Madame Bones reads the accusations, then. Several cases of unauthorized use of a Memory Charms outside of Ministry regulations, appropriation of achievements that weren’t his own, deceit of the public for personal gain, the attempted bribery of a minor as well as an attempted attack on one, the last two points being considered as aggravating circumstances due to their direct relation to the trial.

It’s a long list, and especially the mention of an attack on a minor results in a rise of the noise level in the visitor stands. Hadrian is pretty sure that it’s only going to get worse when they realise that it’s him who was attacked, and he gets some amusement out of calculating if the affection of the public for Lockhart or him would win out if it were on them to decide.

“How do you plead?” Madame Bones asks, and her lips are pursed in obvious disapproval. He shakes his head to refocus because in the end, there’s no way to find out, anyway, and it doesn’t really matter. Lockhart is going to be found guilty at the end of the day, and then he can forget about another idiot.  

“Not guilty,” Lockhart’s lawyer says instantly, while Lockhart himself stays silent and stares at the ground in front of him.

“Do you agree to the use of Veritaserum?” Madame Bones asks, and nods sharply when the answer is negative. “Very well, then. We will hear the witnesses and decide if we are going to force the use of it afterwards. Ms Cassiopeia Black to the stand, please.”

Cassiopeia gets up gracefully and steps up to the small podium to Lockhart’s right. After she states her name and date of birth, she starts to recount her findings from her travels, circumstantiating every single accusation with reports of witnesses, from relatives of the victims and other relevant sources.

Hadrian thinks that it’s a bit redundant – he knows that every single member of the Wizengamot has a copy of her research, he read it already, and he only listens with half an ear for the forty-five minutes it takes to get through every single case.

Next is Arcturus, who summarises the results of the investigation the Board of Governors did. It’s not much more interesting and he busies himself with trying to guess which statement comes from which student. He knows that it’s important to strengthen the claim that it’s impossible that Lockhart actually did what his books say, but after the third statement from a student about his inability to cast an Expelliarmus, it loses its entertainment value rather quickly.

When it’s finally his turn, he’s mostly glad that he gets something to do now.

“Heir Potter-Black, please recount what happened on the 8th of May,” Madame Bones prompts and he gives a nod.

“Professor Lockhart asked me to stay behind after our Defence lesson, and then brought up the lawsuit against him and the involvement of my family. He said that he doesn’t have to fear anything but asked me to ‘put in a good word’ for him, in exchange for his support to handle my fame, so to speak. I refused, of course, and when I turned my back to leave the classroom, he tried to use a Memory Charm on me.”

“He tried?” she asks, and he knows that it’s also only for the sake of procedure.

“Yes, I was wearing the Black heir ring. As all heir rings do, there are certain protections on it, one of them is against Memory Charms. It blocked the spell, and I stunned him immediately and told my friend, who was waiting for me outside of the classroom, to get our Head of House. Professor Snape then brought us all to the Headmaster’s office and Headmaster Dumbledore called the Aurors.”

“Thank you. You will all find a report from the Goblin’s in your documents, confirming the protections of the Black heir ring, as well as the report from the Aurors on call. We will now watch the memory heir Potter-Black gave of the incident. Thank you, you can sit back down,” she says in his direction and gives him a small smile.

It’s kind of weird, to watch his own memory from this point of view, and he’s glad once more that he behaved as neutrally as he did, and that it’s impossible to see that he cast wandlessly that day as his hand is obscured mostly by his sleeve.

There are murmurs breaking out all over the courtroom when the memory is over, and when he lets his eyes roam through the vast room, he can see many glares and scowls directed at Lockhart, who slumps even further in his chair.

There’s a short break during which Madame Bones, Minister Fudge and Rufus Scrimgeour discuss the use of Veritaserum, but they all seem to be in agreement, and eventually, the potion is forced on a struggling Lockhart.

What follows is a long-winding recount of the things Cassiopeia basically laid out already, and the last supporters in attendance seem to waver. It’s a mystery to him how there can still be some people left who aren’t outraged; it’s not only that he doesn’t like Lockhart, but that this careless use of a spell that literally erases memories, and only for the sake of his own money and reputation, is genuinely terrifying to him.

Granted, he might be more sensitive about the prospect of having his mind altered in any way, or more aware of the magnitude due to his personal, close connection to mind magic, but the idea that basically anybody can do it who has a wand makes him shudder. He knows that he’s not some paragon of virtue either, but he’d never use his skill at Legilimency for something as unimportant as fame, for fuck’s sake.

“Very well, administer the Antidote,” Madame Bones orders at last, and her expression is as hard as her voice. “The Wizengamot is going to discuss the verdict now, we will resume in one hour.”

As soon as she’s finished, loud conversations break out everywhere, and people get up and move towards the exit in small groups.

“Come on, let’s get a coffee somewhere,” Cassiopeia says with a sigh.

“I need to catch Amelia for a moment,” Arcturus says with a small smile. “Go without me, I’ll find you later.”

The two of them make their way out of the courtroom and up to the cafeteria. They just got a coffee when a tall, regal woman approaches them with a thin smile. “Ms Black,” she greets, and a glance at Cassiopeia shows him that her expression turned very cold.

“Hadrian, go on downstairs, I’ll catch you in a minute, alright?” she says, her hand squeezing his shoulders for a moment.

He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t terribly curious, but he knows that there’s absolutely no sense in protesting and simply nods.

He throws a quick glance over his shoulder before he slips out of the café, but both women have their backs turned towards him and apart from two tense lines of shoulders, they give nothing away.

Thankfully, nobody seems to take real notice of him and he’s back downstairs within five minutes and he enters the courtroom to avoid the reporters that are standing in front of it. There are only a handful of people still sitting in the stands and he walks over to the other side where they were sitting, leans against the bannister and crosses his ankles.

He’s just considering how bad of a verdict Lockhart might receive and absently rubs at his arms, a chill creeping over him. The cold starts to become worse though, there’s a deep, intense feeling of misery spreading through him all of a sudden, and he realises with a start that his hands are trembling and his vision is getting blurry.

He looks up and his eyes catch on a movement to his right. Three Dementors are drifting closer to him and he snaps his head up, but there are no Patroni underneath the ceiling anymore.

His attempt to take a few steps backwards ends in a stumble and he barely catches himself on the banister, his breathing is starting to come out in harsh pants and his throat constricts. He feels like all the happiness is sucked out of him, blood is rushing in his ears and there’s a faint scream ringing through his head that’s getting louder and louder, more desperate and insistent, and he thinks that he can make out his name between the cries, a woman who is pleading for his life, over and over between sobs, another scream, a high, terrible laugh, an incantation, a thud –

When he comes back to himself, the first thing he becomes aware of is that his head is pounding something fierce and that he’s terribly cold. The next thing is that he’s lying on something hard and that there’s a warm hand on his shoulder.

With a groan, he blinks his eyes open and finds Regulus staring down at him with a worried frown. “Oh, thank Merlin and Morgana. Are you – how do you feel?”

He groans again and attempts to sit up, rubbing his forehead. “What happened?”

Regulus scowls and hands him a bar of chocolate. “Eat that. Someone forgot to escort the Dementors out of the courtroom and they had an unhealthy interest in you.”

He grimaces at the reminder, everything coming back to him slowly, the black cloaks, the sudden cold and the deep, terrible misery. And whatever it was that he heard, though he does his best to shove it away for now because he feels like he might cry if he doesn’t. “Why – I mean… Is it normal, to faint? I think I heard someone scream my name and…” he trails off, the memory so very painful for some reason he can’t even name, and he stares down at his hands.

Regulus sighs and shakes his head. “No, but I have my suspicions for the reasons. But let’s get you home first, alright?”

For a moment, he considers protesting, but he still feels shaky and rattled and finds that right now, he couldn’t care less about what verdict Lockhart will get.

As soon as they’re in the library at Grimmauld Place, Kreacher presses a large mug of hot chocolate into his hands and glares at him until he takes a sip. To his surprise, it really helps a great deal and gradually, his shoulders relax and warmth spreads through his body.

Before either of them can say anything, Death appears out of nowhere and takes the armchair across from them. “I should have kept an eye on you,” he grumbles, his voice so annoyed that it gets a faint smile out of Hadrian.

“So, why did I faint and what did I hear?” he asks, the need to know becoming only more insistent now that he’s feeling a bit more alive again.

“Well…” Regulus starts, but it’s Death who sighs and shakes his head.

“You fainted because the memories of Voldemort’s attack when you were a baby are very powerful, and you weren’t prepared for them because they’re connected to your, admittedly very temporary, death. Not to mention that three Dementors at once are a rather nasty surprise. What you heard – or well, _who_ you heard, was your mother.”

Regulus coughs, but Hadrian ignores it. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach and he clenches his hands more tightly around the mug to hide the tremble that just reappeared. He keeps staring down, tries to make sense of the sudden feeling of loss and sadness, and jumps slightly when Regulus puts his arm around his shoulder.

“You’re allowed to feel sad about it, you know?” he says softly, and it takes him a moment to understand what he’s talking about.

“But I – I never…” he stammers but breaks off again to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat.

Regulus sighs and pulls him closer. “I know, and I’m not saying that you did anything wrong but – even without remembering them, they were your parents, and it’s normal to be sad, or angry, or whatever else you’re feeling about their deaths. It’s okay to miss them, and it’s okay that you’re only moved by it now after more or less witnessing the last moments of your mother.”

“I heard her… I heard her pleading for my life,” he whispers, and he loathes how his voice breaks over the words. “And I heard _him_ as well, he was… he was _laughing_ at her.” At the last part, anger spikes within him and he raises his head to stare at Regulus.

He’s not sure what to make of all of this and clenches his eyes shut, desperate to get rid of the burn and how he’s close to choking up. “Merlin, it was – they _died_ for me, and they… They didn’t have to. And at the same time, they just – I mean… They could have fled Britain, couldn’t they? They could have stopped fighting in the war, and just – _why weren’t they more careful?!”_

“Sometimes, it’s not that easy,” Regulus says quietly into the top of his head, while one hand is rubbing circles into his back.

He sighs again and breathes deeply for a few times. “I know, it’s just… I mean, in the end, it’s not their fault… It’s Voldemort’s, and Dumbledore’s, and bloody Trelawney’s and just – Am I horrible for never really mourning them?”

“No,” Regulus says, and his voice is full of conviction. He pushes Hadrian back a bit and looks him in the eyes, his expression serious. “However you deal with it best is on you to decide. I think that it was a way for you to defend yourself against the grief, especially when – before you moved in with me. And that’s alright.”

Averting his eyes, he chews on his bottom lip and tries to gather his courage to ask another question that’s burning in his throat. “What does it make me, that I want to bring back the man who murdered them? That I’m talking to his bloody teenage-self about magical theory and _school_ , that I don’t even want to hear stories about them while I ask _him_ about Merlin knows what? I mean, that’s not normal, for fuck’s sake.”

His eyes are still burning and he rubs at them furiously. The voice of his mother is still replaying in his mind, mixed with high, cruel laughter and screams, and he thinks that right now, he probably wouldn’t say no to an Obliviate.

Regulus pulls him close again and he presses his face into his shoulder. “First of all, you can always change your mind. You don’t have to do any of that. And then – only you can decide what is right or wrong in this case, but I think that they would have understood your reasoning. In the end, you don’t want to bring him back as he was when he killed your parents and attempted to kill you. That doesn’t mean that it justifies everything if you don’t want it to, but it’s not exclusionary either.”

“Well said,” Death speaks up, and he startles slightly at the deep voice. He actually forgot that he’s still here and turns his head to look at him. “You can choose whatever it is that you want to do, it’s not set in stone. But what you’re planning is not cruel, or selfish, or goes against the honour of your parents. And if your opinion and stance on them change through this, you can still ask for stories about them, or whatever you feel is right for yourself.”

He nods slowly and closes his eyes again. “Fuck but I know what you meant about Dementors now,” he murmurs into Regulus’ shoulder. “I can’t believe Sirius survived 10 years of that.”

Regulus snorts softly and hugs him a bit more tightly. “It’s alright, you couldn’t have known.”

“Yeah, still, how is that allowed to go on?!”

“If there’s one thing the wizarding world doesn’t like, it’s change,” Regulus says with a sigh. “But that is really not something you have to worry about right now. Finish your chocolate if you don’t want Kreacher to force-feed it to you, and then you should probably sleep for a bit. We can go flying later, I’m sure that Arcturus, Cassiopeia, and Lucretia are going to want to make sure that you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I think sleep is a good idea,” he says and pulls back. He feels like he’s been run over by the Hogwarts Express, though there’s a small part of him that’s kind of scared what he’s going to see as soon as he closes his eyes.

“I’ll give you a variant of the Dreamless Sleep,” Regulus says as if he just read his mind. “It won’t knock you out for as long as the usual potion would, but you’ll be able to sleep for a few hours without any dreams.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs and downs the remains of his chocolate before he gets up on shaky legs.

Curse Lockhart to hell and back, he thinks when he drags himself up the stairs to his room. If it weren’t for him, this would have never happened, and he could have lived on in blissful ignorance of Dementors and his parent’s death.

As soon as he thinks that, there’s another pang in his chest. No matter what both Regulus and Death said, he can’t help but feel regret and guilt at the way he thought about them up until now. He’s not sure if all of it is going to change, but the idea of actually resurrecting Voldemort never appeared as revolting to him as it does right now.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo yeah. That was a lot of angst and probably not exactly how you expected Lockhart's trial to go? And Regulus' memories... Poor boys. I'm sorry? :D


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your feedback <3

Regulus is drumming his fingers against the kitchen table and watches the clock with a frown.

It’s the first of August and they’re supposed to go to the Ministry in an hour for Hadrian to claim his seats; it’s unlike him to be this late for breakfast and he’s slowly getting worried.

Or well – the worry that’s been building steadily over the last few weeks is becoming more urgent would probably be more accurate. Ever since the incident with the Dementors – and no amount of fired people thanks to his and Arcturus’ combined effort can placate his still burning fury over that – Hadrian is withdrawn, often distracted, and generally just… not himself.

Not that he blames him. He’s always been acutely aware that Hadrian’s stance on his parents is more of a defence-mechanism than any healthy way to cope. He’s just never been sure if it would stay that way or if there would be an inevitable confrontation at some point.

The only consolation, if there is any, is that it’s happening now, over the summer holidays, and at least he occasionally talks to Regulus about it.

Still, it doesn’t make his current absence any less concerning, probably only worse because Regulus thought just yesterday that it’s slowly getting better.

They celebrated his birthday over at Black Manor, a few of his friends were there and while he’s rather sure that, besides from Blaise, none of them noticed Hadrian’s slightly dampened mood, it was obvious that the presence of his friends and family did him some good.

After another glance at the clock, he sighs to himself and walks up the stairs to the third landing, and knocks on the door. There’s no answer and his frown deepens, and after another moment of hesitation, he pushes the door open slowly and leans against the doorframe.

Hadrian is sitting at his desk, his side turned towards Regulus, and currently glaring at the deceivingly inconspicuous-looking diary that’s lying in front of him. His shoulders are tense and one hand is clenched around the armrest, the other twirling his wand around.

“Har?” he asks lowly, taking a few steps into the room and wincing slightly when Hadrian jumps in response.

“Hey,” he mutters, eyes flickering back to the diary for a moment. “You know, sometimes I just want to burn the bloody thing.”

Regulus hums and crosses the remaining distance to put a hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Then again, I still see the logic in our plan and that he… basically wasn’t himself, and all that rot. I just don’t know what to _do_ ,” he says, and frustration and agitation are dripping from every word.

“There’s no hurry to make a decision, but… maybe talking to it – him might help?” he offers carefully, watching him closely.

There’s the flicker of a grimace and Hadrian leans into his touch a bit more. “Maybe. Anyway, what time is it?”

For a moment, he considers pushing the point but then he remembers why he came up here in the first place and casts a Tempus. “If we don’t want to be late, and then never hear the end of it from Sirius, you should get some breakfast.”

Hadrian takes a deep breath and nods, getting up from the chair. “Alright then, let’s go.”

The Ministry is busy when they arrive through the floo, but Sirius is already waiting for them, dressed in black dress-robes and watching the bustling crowd with vague amusement in his eyes. His face brightens when he sees them and he pulls Hadrian into a quick hug before squeezing Regulus’ shoulder for a short moment.

They draw a few curious glances on their way down to Level nine but are mostly left alone as it’s more of a usual business day in the Ministry, so there’s no press or curious onlookers to bother them. Regulus isn’t even sure if the general public is aware that Hadrian is going to take up his seats today.

The Wizengamot Chambers are only half-filled when they arrive, but Arcturus comes over to greet them as soon as they walk in. “Sirius, Hadrian, the two of you should take your seats behind me and I will call you after the official introduction. When all of your seats are claimed and magic accepted the two of you, you are allowed to move into the stands. I’m going to make sure that, despite the interest everyone will no doubt have over your seats and your choice of proxy, there’s no room for them to interrogate you about it.”

There’s a small, satisfied smirk curling his lips and Regulus fondly rolls his eyes at the delight his grandfather seems to get out of this. Not that he’s far off either and he breathes a sigh of relief when Hadrian’s face mirrors Arcturus’ expression.

He’s been looking forward to this for so long that it would have only worried Regulus more if he couldn’t enjoy this now. Not for the first time does he think that it would be a good idea for Hadrian to talk to Sirius and Remus about this, but up until now, he didn’t seem to like the idea when Regulus brought it up and if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he won’t force him.

Not only would it break his trust, but it would also only be helpful if he actually _wants_ to hear about his parents. It’s probably only more complicated because of the guilt he’s feeling, regardless of how unjustified.

With a shake of his head, he puts the thoughts away for later and after a quick ‘See you later,’ to the three of them, he makes his way into the stands and up the stairs to the Black family seat.

Now that he’s paying attention, he takes note of the low murmurs and unsubtle glances that are thrown into Sirius’ and Hadrian’s direction and he suppresses a smile.

“Regulus,” Lord Selwyn greets him with a nod, gaze flickering from him to the duo that’s now sitting in the seats directly behind the podium of the Chief Warlock. “Am I correct to assume that your ward is taking up his seat today?”

“Indeed,” he nods, sitting down in the comfortable chair and keeping his face blank. “Although, there are several seats he will claim.”

“Oh really?” Selwyn asks, only showing vague curiosity. “I would have thought that you would be the one to step in as his proxy? Or is your renegade brother simply here for moral support?”

He barely keeps from rolling his eyes in exasperation and only smiles thinly. “My _brother_ ,” he says with emphasis on the word, “Will be the one to act as his proxy. Not only is he his godfather as I’m sure you know, but he’s also a – let us say – the less _questionable_ choice in the eyes of certain people that have an uncommonly high interest in matters that don’t concern them.”

Lord Selwyn’s eyes light up as he obviously gets his insinuation and Regulus scoffs inwardly. He’s rather sure that the idiot doesn’t have half an idea what he’s actually talking about.

Thankfully, he’s spared the discomfort of holding any more senseless small talk as Arcturus is calling order. A look around shows him that most of the members arrived over the last five minutes and he smiles faintly to himself when his eyes fall on Fudge and his encourage, who are watching Sirius and Hadrian closely.

“Welcome to the 878th session of the Wizengamot,” Arcturus says. “The order of business for today is as follows: Heir Potter-Black will take up his seats and name his proxy, Madame Umbridge will introduce her revised draft for a new werewolf-legislation, and we will debate the financial plans for the Departments of International Magical Cooperation, Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and Magical Games and Sports. Before we start, any other urgent items we should add?”

Nobody speaks up and Arcturus gives a sharp nod. “Very well, then. Heir Potter-Black, please step forward.”

Regulus watches as Hadrian gets up and walks towards the podium, coming to a halt next to it so that his side faces the stands. There’s not an ounce of nervousness visible in his posture or on his face, and Regulus smiles to himself.

“Which seats do you claim?” Arcturus asks, his face just as impassive. The only one who would give anything away is Sirius, who’s not bothering to hide his grin. Of course he wouldn’t.

“As per my inheritance test by Gringotts, I am claiming the seats of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell, and the Established House of Gryffindor,” Hadrian states confidently.

Instantly, murmurs break out all over the stands and many people turn their heads to look at Regulus. He doesn’t react though, keeping his eyes on Hadrian and Arcturus and biting his tongue.

“Please present the documents of your inheritance test, then,” Arcturus says, easily speaking over the noise but sparing a short, reprimanding look for the assembly.

Hadrian hands over the rolls of parchment and Arcturus tips his wand to them. A moment later, a copy appears in front of everyone.

“Very well, who do you name as your proxy?”

“Sirius Orion Black.”

“Step forward, please.”

Sirius gets up and takes his place next to Hadrian, and Regulus has the impression that he’s barely constraining his smug excitement.

“We’re going to test the acceptance by the magic of your seats first, then you will hold your vows. Per decree 258 of the Wizengamot from 1883, you are hereby excused from the prohibition of using magic out of school for the course of this procedure,” Arcturus explains.

Hadrian nods and flicks his wrist, his wand appearing in his hand.

Regulus knows that it’s silly – there’s no known incident of someone being refused by their seats after the magic of the Goblins stated them as a rightful heir – but he’s still leaning forward in his chair and watches closely as Arcturus walks him through the long incantation.

There’s a glow appearing around Hadrian’s wrist from which threads of red, purple, and black – the colours of the Houses of Gryffindor, Potter, and Peverell respectively – are forming, curling around his wand and spreading out to connect with stones of the same colour that are set on the edge of the podium.

The purple and black threads turn golden nearly simultaneously, indicating the acceptance, and the red one follows swiftly. The murmurs get louder once again and this time, Arcturus clears his throat pointedly.

Regulus breathes a soft sigh of relief and leans back again, letting his eyes roam through the room where they catch on a few unguarded expressions. Lucius Malfoy looks like he just swallowed something rancid, Lord Nott isn’t far off either, and from the fraction of the light side, the expressions range from delighted to confused to downright mistrustful.

“Now, for the vows. Heir Potter-Black, do you accept the duties and privileges that come with claiming the restricted Lordship of your houses?”

“So I do.”

“And do you agree to install Sirius Orion Black as your proxy, allowing him to act in your stead in all matters of law, business, and court for the Houses of Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor?”

“So I do,” Hadrian says, exchanging a quick glance with Sirius who looks more focused by now, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Mr Black, do you agree to take up these responsibilities and to act in mutual accord with your ward, to advise and guide him, and to make decisions as he wishes, in all conscience?”

“So I do,” Sirius answers calmly.

“So mote it be,” Arcturus says with a nod, and the golden threads twirl and twist, divide themselves once more and wrap around Sirius’ wrist as well. They glow brightly for a few moments before sinking into their skin.  

“Very well. Heir Potter-Black, you’re allowed to witness any and all sessions of the Wizengamot.”

It follows the vow of confidence that prevents either of them from talking about confidential issues of the Wizengamot with anyone not involved, and then the two of them bow and make up their way to the last row of seats where Regulus is sitting.

The remaining session passes relatively uneventful, though Regulus doesn’t miss the faint scowl on both Sirius’ and Hadrian’s face when Madame Umbridge presents her proposals for the new werewolf-legislation.

He already knew about it, definitely sharing their sentiment, and he’s incredibly glad that Hadrian is able to take up his seats now, just in time for Sirius to vote on the laws in a few months. It’s one of the few issues where there aren’t clear lines between the fractions, and he hopes that, with the weight of three high-seats, they can prevent that Umbridge’s despicable prejudices become a legal issue.  

He would have talked it through with them already if it wasn’t a matter of confidentiality.

As soon as Arcturus calls and end to the session, people are turning towards them. Some are whispering amongst themselves, others are less restrained and already starting to make their way into their direction.

“Alright, the vultures are already circling,” he mutters towards Hadrian, who snorts softly at his wording but straightens up. Regulus is sure that he, and maybe Sirius, are the only ones who notice the slight tension in his shoulders and his guarded eyes, and Sirius throws him a confused look.

Right, he doesn’t know why Hadrian is so stressed, recently.

“Come on, no need to hand them their chance on a silver platter,” Regulus says and puts his hand on Hadrian’s shoulder, steering them towards the exit closer to their side.

They meet Arcturus outside of the courtroom and are just stepping into the lift when Hadrian turns his head and stares at a spot behind Regulus. “That’s the woman Cassiopeia talked to at Lockhart’s trial,” he murmurs, seemingly more to himself but Regulus throws a look over his shoulder.

“Really? That’s Lady Longbottom. She should have been there for the deliberation of the verdict,” he says surprised.

“ _That’s_ Neville’s grandmother?” Hadrian exclaims, a crease appearing between his brows, and Regulus remembers the issues he mentioned in passing between Neville and his grandmother.

“Yes. I will ask Cassiopeia what that was about. I should have noticed that she was missing from the assembly when we deliberated after the giving of evidence,” he says with a frown.

Hadrian hums and looks pensive. “Do you know if she and Cassiopeia know each other?”

“They have some history, went to Hogwarts at the same time and butted heads more than a few times. Let’s just say that she doesn’t approve of Cassiopeia’s methods. Which, come to think of it, might be what they’ve talked about, seeing that half of the evidence was founded on Cassiopeia’s research. But let’s not talk about that here.”

Sirius accompanies them to Grimmauld Place, and it’s hard to miss that he obviously picked up on Hadrian’s mood as he keeps sending questioning glances at Regulus, who, for his part, is a bit conflicted on what to do about it.

When Sirius follows him into the kitchen and asks him about it, he sighs, leaning his hip against the table and staring out of the window for a moment. “I’d rather not be the one to tell you. Not because I think you shouldn’t know about it but because it’s Har’s decision.”

For a moment, Sirius looks like he might protest, but then he bites his lip, takes a deep breath and nods. “Alright, that’s fair. I don’t like it, but I can see your point. But – is he okay?”

Regulus grimaces slightly. “I’m not sure, to be honest. But he does still talk to me about it, so that’s something.”

“Is this connected to the Dementor incident?”

Well, never let it be said that his brother isn’t too smart for his own good. “Yes, unfortunately.”

Sirius’ eyes take on a haunted look and he stays silent for long moments. “Do you think it’s alright if I ask him about it?”

He’s a bit surprised that Sirius even asks him but after he ponders it for a bit, he nods. “Yeah, I think so. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, he will most likely just tell you. But – don’t push it if he does, yeah? He has his reasons, even though I don’t really agree with the logic behind them.”

Sirius frowns, only looking more worried, but nods and slips out of the kitchen. Regulus stays where he is before he heaves another sigh and walks into the backyard for a cigarette.

Later that day, when Sirius has left and Hadrian is in bed already, Regulus is sitting in his study, going over some research when the floo chimes. He frowns and casts a Tempus, the crease between his brows only deepening when he sees that it’s nearly 10 pm.

Quickly making his way down to the Entrance hall, he flicks his wand to open the wards for a call and crouches down, surprised when he finds Severus’ head floating in the flames.

“Regulus, may I come through?” he asks, and even through the fire, he sounds tired.

“Sure,” he says and steps back. “Kreacher! Bring us two tumblers and a bottle of firewhiskey, would you?” he adds while Severus steps through the fire and dusts himself off.

They walk back into his study and take the two armchairs in front of the fire, silent until Kreacher pops away again.

“How are you doing? I didn’t see you for some time,” he says eventually, stretching out his legs and leaning his head back.

Severus sighs and nods. “Dumbledore keeps pestering me about information on you, and it’s easier to argue that we don’t find time to see us.”

He grimaces and takes another sip of whiskey. “You know that I’d be fine to come up with things you can tell him, right?”

“Yes, I know, but it would be stressful and require some careful planning to make sure that, with Hadrian at Hogwarts, nothing contradictory reaches his ears.”

Regulus scowls into his glass for a moment and spares a thought for how bloody annoying it is that Dumbledore still has such a great impact on their lives. “True enough, but we should come up with something. Although, I’d guess that after the session of the Wizengamot today, he has some new theories, doesn’t he?”

Severus smirks faintly and inclines his head. “Indeed, though I feel like I should tell you first that he’s considering to support a petition for Lockhart’s time in Azkaban to be shortened. He said that ten years are disproportionate for what he did.”

He hums and tilts his head. “I hate to say this, but I can see where he’s coming from. Not because what Lockhart did isn’t despicable, but because Azkaban is disproportionate in general. I don’t understand why he’s not set on changing that, instead.”

“He’s not always rational, much less does things that could threaten his reputation. Attacking Azkaban would not only result in push-back from the dark and grey fraction. And as far as I can tell, he’s even more cautious to not do anything that could harm his influence further,” Severus says with a shrug.

It makes sense, but Regulus also knows that Dumbledore won’t be able to keep his influence either way – Cassiopeia will definitely see to that. “I doubt the petition is going to be successful. After what happened at the trial with Hadrian, the Ministry is even more set on at least having Lockhart pay for what he did. They won’t shorten his time.”

Severus sneers and shakes his head. “I can’t believe they actually forgot them in the courtroom. Though I also don’t understand why they took such an interest in Hadrian, it’s uncommon.”

Regulus shrugs because it’s not like he can tell him the actual reason, and decides to change the topic. “Anyway, what did he say to the events of today?”

“Oh, I think he is mostly shocked over how many seats Hadrian inherited, but he said, and I quote, at least he has Sirius as his proxy. He’s not sure if that will do much good though, seeing that your brother doesn’t seem inclined to free him from your terrible influence.”

“Oh Salazar,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, not much he can do about it, and I don’t see how he can honestly be surprised that, after letting Sirius rot in Azkaban for a decade, he doesn’t come running back with excitement.”

There’s some conflict warring in Severus’ eyes, most likely his intense dislike for Sirius running diametral to his general agreement. Not that he blames him.

“Well,” Severus says after a moment. “He definitely plans on catching Hadrian when school starts again to advise him about how to use his seats and how to put them into line with the light fraction, how to vote, and so on – it’s like he doesn’t have any idea of the boy’s character.”

Regulus doesn’t know if he should be amused or annoyed; on the one hand, he’s sure that Hadrian will be perfectly able to handle himself which will make for some exasperation on Dumbledore’s part. On the other hand, he’d be glad if Hadrian could catch a break for once.

“Well, he can try, I’m sure. It’s not like it will do him much good,” he says, downing the remains of his whiskey. “I’d just like to hear how he wants to justify that. Granted, it’s not forbidden, but it’s also not common practice for a Headmaster to advise a student over his political decisions. That falls, traditionally, to the family. I’m sure Sirius will be thrilled when he hears that Dumbledore doesn’t trust him, and I don’t even want to think about Har’s reaction.”

Severus smiles, the fondness he holds for Hadrian barely hidden. “I’m sure he will let Dumbledore know quickly enough that he can do without his questionable help.”

Regulus grimaces faintly because Hadrian has been much less interested in his usual studies over the last few weeks, and he’s not sure that his internal conflict will have resolved itself when school starts again. On top of that, Dumbledore will probably try to increase his pressure and influence on Sirius as well.

Of course, Severus catches his shift in expression and raises a brow. “Don’t tell me you don’t have confidence in him?”

Regulus gives a short, startled laugh. “I have, don’t worry. He’s just going through some issues right now, and I’d like him to not have to deal with Dumbledore on top of them.”

Severus looks thoughtful and Regulus lets him think, certain that he will get to the point eventually.

“Let me guess, Dementors?” he confirms his assumption after the silence stretched for a while, and at Regulus’ nod, winces in sympathy. “Nasty creatures, and not good company for children, much less those with a difficult past.”

Regulus smiles wryly and fills his glass up again. “Indeed. And I’d rather he wouldn’t have to defend himself on all fronts when he’s back at school. I assume that his seats are going to align between grey and dark which Dumbledore will realize eventually. Then, there are still some Slytherins getting on his nerves, the public will pick up on the proceedings in the Wizengamot eventually – it’s all a bit much for a 13-year-old.”

Severus sighs and stares into his glass for a while, turning it around in his hands. “I’d love to appease your worries, but I suspect that it will only get worse within the house as he’s going to be a third-year and the older years are already watching him closely since last year. Dumbledore is still convinced that the Dark Lord is back and biding his time, and also more suspicious of Hadrian ever since the incident with Draco at the beginning of this year – so really, I can only hope that he can make his peace with whatever the Dementors pulled up before he comes back.”

“Yeah, me too. But he has to get through that on his own,” Regulus says, hating that it’s true. “Anyway, how about you? If Dumbledore is still certain that Voldemort is back…” he trails off and raises a questioning brow.

Severus groans and empties his glass before filling it again. “I mean sure, in the beginning, I agreed with him that it’s most likely the case. But over a year has passed and there’s absolutely no evidence pointing in that direction. No activity in the old crowd, no excitement, no change in the mark, nothing. And he keeps pestering me about it, Lucius is chewing my ear off about you as well, and it’s seriously starting to grate on my nerves. There are only so many excuses I can come up with to keep track of some of the others.”

Regulus grins slightly at the mention of Lucius’ annoyance. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry for your stress, but it is kind of funny that Dumbledore is in the dark so thoroughly, and that Lucius is still so pissed.”

Severus pins him with an unimpressed look. “You know, my life wouldn’t be half as stressful if it wasn’t for you, your ward, and the fact that your insane lot of a family decided to come back, throw up a whole lot of trouble, and only strengthen Dumbledore’s suspicion that something is going on. And don’t think that I don’t know how you’re not even telling me half of it.”

Regulus’ grin broadens and he clinks his glass against Severus’. “You know me too well. Not my fault that your kind-of-boss can easily hold his own in terms of paranoia in comparison to my family. Also, it’s only going to get worse from here.”

Severus groans again, downs his whiskey, and says, “Well, at least your liquor is good to drown my sorrows.”

* * *

Hadrian is staring at the diary. Again. It has become something like a weird, useless habit ever since that blasted incident in the Ministry, and there’s this insistent itch underneath his skin, urging him to just – burn it, throw it down the drain, do _something_ about it.

It’s ridiculous, but he feels like it’s mocking him, in some twisted, convoluted way that doesn’t make any sense.

It’s nearly the end of the holidays and by now, he’s terribly annoyed with himself because he’s not getting anywhere, and not even Atana’s attempts to cheer him up with increasingly creative insults towards Tom manage to placate him much.

He talked about it time and time again with Regulus, with Death, and just as of last week, with Sirius. First, he thought that Regulus put his brother up to it when Sirius approached him after the Wizengamot session, but it only took an exasperated look from Regulus to convince him that it wasn’t the case.

He didn’t talk to Sirius straight away, but well – being annoyed at himself, not getting anywhere; so after another two weeks of useless brooding, he caved and asked him hesitantly if he thinks that his parents would be disappointed with him.

Sirius looked startled but, thankfully, caught himself quickly, and they talked about it for a while. In the end, he forced himself to ask if they could visit their grave in Godric’s Hollow and if, from time to time, Sirius could tell him more about them.

To his surprise, it actually helps and makes him feel better, so he’s keeping to it and started to ask Remus about them, too.

They’re going to visit Godric’s Hollow the day after tomorrow, and somehow, that has led him to the decision that he’s going to write to Tom beforehand. It just feels necessary and he also realized that he’s no longer worried that Tom might be angry or stop talking to him, not really.

Some days, he thinks that it’s exactly what he wants. And at least he has to come clean about it before he visits his parents’ grave. It feels wrong, dishonest and even more disloyal to not confront what actually happened, what they died for, before going.

So, for the first time in half a year, he flips the diary open and, after stalling a bit more, takes his quill.

**Hello Tom. It’s been some time. We should talk.**

_ Hadrian. You avoided me.  
Are you ready to admit that you’re more connected to me, or at least my future self, than you let on? _

Any other time, he might have felt amused at the audacity, but right now it’s only anger that’s slowly starting to bubble under the surface. He knows it’s useless – it’s not like the piece of Voldemort’s soul, contained in this diary, has had any business with his parents’ death. But If he learnt one thing over the last few weeks, it’s that his emotions aren’t prone to rationality, however much he loathes that fact.

**I don’t think it’s much about admitting anything but more about not feeling like I owe you an explanation. Which I don’t.**

Well, maybe not constructive in the strictest sense, but he’s not going to let Tom lead this conversation if he can help it.

**You killed my parents. Or – your ‘counterpart’ did. Over a faked prophecy he only heard the first half of. It actually was about me, but when you – he tried to kill me, a bloody toddler, the curse backfired for reasons no one knows, and his body got destroyed.  
He’s wandering around as some formless wraith because all his followers deserted him or are in Azkaban. **

His hands are trembling slightly when he’s finished, his heart is beating in his throat and when he looks down at his words, he notes that his writing is slurred towards the end. Maybe he’s a little angrier than he thought. A lot more.

There’s no answer for a long time, and he’s just considering to demand a bloody answer when the pages in front of him start fluttering, there’s a lurching sensation in his gut and then he’s falling, the feeling remarkably like entering a Pensive.

When he lands, he’s slowly blinking and looking around, while his wand is already in his hand. On the first glance, it reminds him a bit of the library at Grimmauld Place, with endless shelves filling up the walls and stretching through the vast room. There’s a fireplace nestled in between with two armchairs in front of it, and only a few candles that are floating in the air spending flickering, dim light.

“Good instincts,” a smooth voice remarks from behind him and he whirls around.

A tall boy is standing in front of him, 16, maybe 17 years old, with dark-brown hair that’s curling slightly, and he’s wearing a cunning expression. There’s curiosity shining in his grey eyes though as he looks Hadrian over, but also something darker that instantly makes him wary.

He suppresses his first impulse to take a step back or to let his confusion show. Instead, he focuses on his mind-link to Death. _“Hey, I don’t know what exactly is going on here but it’s some weird shit,”_ he mutters before shifting his attention back to the boy that’s watching him closely.

“I’d ask who you are, but I have a feeling that if I guess Tom Riddle, I’d probably be correct. Which begs the question of, what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he asks, and it comes out with much more contempt than he intended, but the anger from earlier is still brimming underneath his skin. Not to mention that this is really the height of arrogance, and at least he now has a somewhat physical target for all this fury and frustration that has kept building over the last few weeks.

Tom inclines his head and smiles. “I knew you were smart. I thought it would be a good idea to have a more… Shall we say, direct form of conversation.”

He sneers and raises his chin, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you, now? Interesting methods you have there.”

“Well, I couldn’t risk you closing the diary again just because the topic became too uncomfortable for you, could I?” Tom says with a dismissive gesture and takes a few steps towards him.

“Believe me, if I want to get out of here, I will,” he scoffs with a raised brow. He can feel Death’s presence in his mind and he thinks he’s never been this glad about it. “But you know what? You’re right. It’s much more fun to tell you how ridiculously stupid your ‘other self’ was to your face.”

Anger flashes in Tom’s eyes, and he grins. “What, not a fan of critique on your work?”

“I’m not going to fight with you,” Tom says, taking a deep breath, but Hadrian can already see a muscle twitch in his jaw, and suddenly there’s a burning desire to see how far he can push before Tom snaps. He doesn’t seem particularly patient.

_“You can get me out of here when I want to go, right?”_ he asks within his mind, and after he gets a short, affirmative answer, tilts his head to think about what he’s going to say.

“So, say – if you were a Dark Lord, close to winning the war you started as a result of your self-inflicted insanity, and one of your new recruits came to you with half of a prophecy he overheard in a shady pub, given to Albus Dumbledore no less, from a woman who’s known to be a fraud – and, let’s also say, this part of the prophecy only states that a baby with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born at a specific date – would you think it’s a good idea to spend all your energy on discovering where that family hides, to then attempt to kill the baby – and fail?”

Tom opens his mouth as if to speak, but he raises his hand and smirks. “Oh, I’m far from finished. Let’s _also_ say that you have five Horcruxes that nobody knows about, but then you ask another new recruit for his house-elf to test the defences on one of them. You leave the house-elf to die, not considering that he could have been ordered to come home. Of course, you also didn’t think to put up wards because, obviously, house-elves are beneath your notice.”

Tom pales ever so slightly, and his smirk only grows. His heart is pounding in anticipation and glee, and he slowly walks up and down in front of Tom, who seems frozen to his spot. “Let’s also assume that this new follower isn’t all that fond of your torture-and-murder-regime, and smart on top of that. He understands perfectly what his house-elf is talking about, knows where to find your Horcruxes, and how to convince you to remove your mark on him and let him work in the Department of Mysteries. Because you’re still bloody obsessed with some stupid prophecy about a child.”

“No – “

“Shut up,” he snaps before Tom can say anything else. To his surprise, it actually works. “Now, and that’s the part where you just got very, very lucky – that servant actually liked your goals and visions for our world before you became an utter crackhead. So, instead of destroying the Horcruxes after Voldemort vanished, he spends a lot of time coming up with a ritual to restore your actual sanity. Which leads us to where we’re now. Me, your prophesied downfall, in possession of all your precious Horcruxes. You, a mere soul-piece in a diary, one of several, and a disembodied, powerless wraith with nobody to help him. The decision to either resurrect you, sane and with all your power, or to destroy all your Horcruxes, solely in my hands.”

Coming to a halt, he turns to look Tom in the eyes, lets all amusement vanish from his expression and straightens up. “So, just who do you think is at an actual risk, between the two of us?”

Tom visibly swallows but gathers himself quickly enough, his eyes narrowing. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I, though?”

“You wrote to me,” he states, finding his confidence again if the sudden gleam in his eyes is anything to go by. “You talked to me like it was the most normal thing to do and only stopped when I got close to all this because you were scared that I’d be angry. You just think this bluff of a threat will gloss over this fact. It’s not like you actually _care_ about your parents.”

He bites his tongue, and instead of snapping at him, only smiles faintly. “You know what’s an interesting phenomenon? Dementors. Make you relive your worst memories. Like, let’s say, your mother dying in front of you when you were only a little older than one year. Her murderer laughing when she’s begging for your life. Yours, not her own. Makes you reconsider some things, you know?”

There’s a weird mix of barely constrained fury and fear warring within Tom’s eyes, and he tilts his head. “Scared of Death, aren’t you? Even with your whole existence being reduced to something as pitiful as this – “

“Shut up,” Tom snarls, anger obviously winning over, and he throws his head back and laughs because he finally did it, managed to make him snap and lose his head in less than half an hour, and it shouldn’t be this satisfying, he shouldn’t sound this mad, but it’s like all the tension of the last few weeks is finally finding a release, like he can finally _breathe_ again, and he just doesn’t care how reasonable or healthy or responsible this is.

“Pathetic,” he says with a mocking smile when he pulls himself together. “No wonder you went mad. Seriously, five Horcruxes, Tom? Fear is a bad advisor, I mean look where it got you. A barely thirteen-year-old with your fate in his hands.”

Tom is trembling by now, his face flushed in anger and he crosses the distance between them, fisting one hand into the front of Hadrian’s robes.

He doesn’t let it deter him though, just thinks _“I’d be good to go, then,”_ and smiles as the lurching sensation takes a grip of him once more, the room and the colours blur together around him and he’s pulled out of the diary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry. Yeah, I feel like I say this more and more often. Hope you liked the Wizengamot session though! Also, someone asked me a few weeks ago for another scene between Snape and Regulus, and I actually thought of you when I included it. :D
> 
> On a happier a note, I wish you all fantastic holidays, whether you celebrate in any way, or have a few free days - if you have to work: I feel you, you poor sod. Me too. <3 
> 
> I'm not certain if I'll manage another chapter this year, _but_ I wrote a Harrymort Oneshot for a Winter Exchange that'll be posted on the 25th, I think.  
> Which reminds me: If you're here, you probably love this ship, and maybe you're interested in joining a Discord-Server with another huge bunch of people just as obsessed? You have to be at least 16 (and please, take this seriously!) If you're interested, [here's the link](https://discord.gg/TsWyvdk/).  
> It's called the Chamber of Secrets (because of course it is) and is for writers, artists, readers, fans-- and generally just a very friendly, wonderful community. :) I'm Mona there, and would be happy to say hi! <3


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments, kudos, etc. <3 I hope you had wonderful holidays! 
> 
> I'm going to answer the comments on the last chapter tomorrow - I really wanted to post this chapter before the year ends, but now I'm so tired that it unfortunately has to wait. I'm sorry. Please know that I love every single one of them and value them a great deal!

Hadrian pushes his plate of pancakes away with a sigh and pulls his coffee towards himself.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s only a graveyard, for Salazar’s sake,” he mutters, more to himself, but Regulus pins him with a look and takes the mug away from him.

“Doesn’t make what it stands for any less important to you,” he says, ignoring Hadrian’s glare at the stolen coffee.

It falters after a few seconds anyway and he exhales in a rush, leaning back in his chair. “I know, it’s just – the last few weeks, I’m feeling like I’m not myself. It is a bit better after, you know – the whole diary-incident, but I’m scared that this is going to plunge me into another mood like that.”

Regulus hums and tilts his head, pushing his plate back towards him at the same time. “I don’t think it will make it worse, and if you’re uncomfortable, Sirius and Remus will leave with you as soon as you say a word. You won’t know unless you try.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes and then nods. “You’re right, and I won’t get the chance once school starts again.”

He’s just looking at the clock to determine how much time he has left until Sirius and Remus pick him up when the floo chimes, and he can hear voices from upstairs.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come?” he asks Regulus for what has to be the hundredth time, knowing the answer already.

Regulus smiles though and hands him back his mug. “As long as you don’t say that you absolutely want me there, no. I think it’s better to do this the first time with those that were close to your parents.”

His answer is cut off when Sirius and Remus enter the kitchen, and after they’ve exchanged a few words, the three of them step into the backyard from where Sirius side-alongs him.

They land in a narrow alley of a village. Old houses in every colour are lining the street, and some are so obviously only held up by magic that he asks Remus, “And Muggles and wizards live here both, and the Muggles don’t realise?”

Remus smiles softly and gestures for him to follow them. “Yes, it’s rather curious how they explain away the oddest things.”

They pass the town-square and he comes to a sudden halt when his eyes fall onto a statue in the middle of it that’s shifting as soon as he fixes his gaze.

“Oh Merlin, I forgot – “ Remus mutters and walks the few steps back to him. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s alright,” he murmurs absent-mindedly, letting his gaze roam over the man and the woman, but eventually shakes himself and looks back at Remus. “I just can’t believe they seriously made a fucking statue of us, I mean – “

Remus smiles wryly but stays silent otherwise, and after one last, disbelieving look, they pick up their walk again. Sirius is a few feet in front of them and now that he’s paying attention, he notices the tension in his shoulders and that he’s unusually silent.

Remus follows his gaze and gives a soft sigh. “It’s the first time for him as well since they’ve died.”

Hadrian’s eyes widen in surprise but as soon as he thinks about it, it makes sense. “He wouldn’t have to come here, for my sake – “

“Oh, first of all, he definitely did, and second, he’s been avoiding it for months now and it’ll do him just as much good as it will do you. At least I hope so. Come on, it’s over there.”

They pass a small church and step through a wrought iron gate, and Hadrian lets his eyes roam over rows and rows of graves, some overgrown so much that it’s hard to make out the tombstones, others pristine and with pompous statues and colourful flower arrangements.

Sirius waits for them and his eyes are troubled when he says, “I don’t – I don’t even know where their grave is.”

Remus just smiles faintly and takes the lead, and Hadrian falls into step next to Sirius. Somehow, it’s kind of comforting that they’re both doing this for the first time, and the tightness in his chest abates ever so slightly.

They walk over narrow paths until they reach the other end and Remus comes to a halt in front of two white stones. There’s nothing particularly special about the graves, apart from the dates on the stones that indicate that his parents led a way too short life.

He tries to get a grip on what he’s feeling, but it’s too much all at once. His throat is closing up, his eyes are burning, and all he can do is to bite his tongue, dig his nails into his palms and try to breathe, in and out, and ignore the way the world is blurring in front of his eyes.

Still, it’s not exactly bad, or at least he doesn’t feel the need to get away. And when Sirius wraps his arm around his shoulders, he lets it go, just resigns himself to crying right now together with his godfather and mourn all the things that have never been.

He has no idea how much time has passed when the three of them finally manage to get a grip on themselves, but he feels infinitely lighter than he has before and smiles softly when both Remus and Sirius conjure flowers to put on the graves.

“Can we – Can we walk through the village, for a bit?” he asks when they make their way back to the entrance. “And maybe – I’d like to see where we lived.”

Remus and Sirius exchange a glance and the former says, “Of course, but the house is still in the same state as it was twelve years ago. Are you sure you want to see it that way?”

After considering it for a moment, he nods. “Yeah, it’s – It’s mine anyway, and I just…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence but the two of them seem to understand anyway and they walk down the main street. There are a few people outside, children playing in the gardens and people talking on the sidewalk. By now, the August sun is burning down on them, only a soft, cool breeze and the shadows of the trees that are lining the street spending some relief.

It’s a nice picture, and he thinks that he can understand why his parents chose to live here. The thought is less painful than he would have expected, and he gives Sirius a small smile when he looks down at him, one arm still around his shoulders.

They draw a few curious glances, but nobody approaches them, and soon enough they leave the tight rows of houses behind.

It’s the last house on the street, and on the first glance, it doesn’t stand out in any way, but much like the ridiculous statue, it shifts as soon as Remus points it out to him. “It’s a Charm the Ministry put on it, to avoid questions. I’m not sure if they’ve kept it this way for some weird memorial purposes or because it’s your decision what to do with it.”

Hadrian stays silent and lets his eyes roam over the overgrown garden, the missing part of the roof and the front door that’s barely hanging in its hinges. Eventually, he notices a small sign at the gate and walks over, taking in the official phrase and all the small, scribbled condolences and well-wishes.

He’s not sure how he feels about this, either; On the one hand, he appreciates the sentiment; on the other, it’s still ludicrous to him that people actually believe that he had anything to do with Voldemort’s downfall, and now there’s also some bitterness creeping in about people celebrating something that has cost him so much.

“I want to go inside.” It’s out before he thinks about it and he only belatedly realises how much he means it.

Sirius tenses next to him and Remus looks thoughtful before he nods. “Alright, but we have to be careful. I don’t know how stable the structure of the house is, or which state it’s in. Sirius, do you want to wait?”

The last part is said with obvious concern and there’s a pang in Hadrian’s chest about not thinking this through beforehand.

“No, it’s – It’s alright. Maybe it’s good, and I shouldn’t let you go on your own,” Sirius says, visibly steeling himself, and earning himself an imploring look from Remus until he’s apparently satisfied and nods.

They walk down the narrow path towards the front door and both Remus and Sirius have their wands ready as Hadrian pulls the door open.

He enters last and freezes as soon as he’s over the doorstep. They’re in what appears to be the living room; armchairs, a couch, and a table lie overturned between some rubble and there are broken picture frames and torn books littering the ground with a few trinkets and toys in between.

Dust is dancing in the air, shimmering in the faint light that’s falling through the dirty windows and whirling up from the greyish carpet that must have once been a light blue.

Sirius draws a sharp breath and Hadrian tears his eyes away from the small toy broom that’s lying next to the hearth to look at him. He’s staring at a spot near the stairs and jumps violently when Hadrian touches his arm.

“Do you – do you mind if I clean up?” Sirius asks hesitantly, his face pale and hands trembling.

“No, not at all,” he says and startles at the roughness of his own voice.

Remus points at a door at the other end of the room. “There’s the kitchen, and up the stairs is the bedroom, your old room, and a guest room. It’s a small house but…”

“I like it,” he says quietly. “Can we – “ he nods towards the stairs to their right, uncertain if Remus will agree to this.

“Of course,” he says and takes the lead, while Sirius stays where he is, muttering spells that right the furniture and clean away the dust and spiderwebs and dirt that have accumulated over the last decade.

Somehow, he’s kind of glad that nobody has been in here; he would have hated it if the whole house was arranged like some kind of memorial, like the sign outside, or if anybody could have just come inside to look around in their _home_.

Remus’ hand on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts and he realises that they’ve already reached the top of the stairs. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Remus asks, worry colouring his voice and his eyes fixed intently on his face.

He actually takes a moment to think about it. “Yeah, I’m – it’s strange, I mean it’s tragic and makes it all feel… more real, I guess. But at the same time, that’s what also makes it valuable, in a way. I don’t really know how to explain it,” he says eventually, frowning at the lack of words to describe what he’s feeling.

Recently, that’s happening an awful lot, and he can’t say that he’s in any way fond of it.

Remus just nods though. “I think I get what you mean. But tell us if you want to leave, alright? There’s no reason why we couldn’t come back another day.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, but he’s already distracted by the door opposite from him. Or rather, the lack thereof; there’s a gaping hole in the wall, debris and plaster littering the ground. Half of the roof is torn away at the other side of the room, and his eyes catch on the trees that are swaying outside, the two pictures so at odds that he has to swallow a few times.

He barely hears Remus’ warnings to be careful as he steps over the rubble on the ground and doesn’t know what to look at first. A shattered crib is lying in front of the torn wall, a small blanket with stitched, colourful animals next to it and the head of a stuffed dragon poking out. There are shelves full of toys and books, both Muggle and Wizarding products as far as he can tell, and painted pictures on the walls of a stag, a dog, a wolf, a doe, and a rat.

He scowls at the last image and has to swallow down the sudden surge of anger at the reminder of Pettigrew.

Somehow, among all the mess of the last two months, he has forgotten that there’s one more person who’s maybe the most responsible for his parents’ death, maybe even more than all the others. He gets some vindictive satisfaction out of the knowledge that the bastard is rotting in Azkaban, unable to feel any pity for someone who betrayed his friends.

“Your mother painted them,” Remus says, his calm voice pulling him back from the edge he’s been balancing on, and he thinks that Remus has probably no idea how incredibly grateful he is for his presence. “She liked to draw from time to time, and I think – she needed something to do when they were in hiding, so this became something of a project of hers.”

It gets a small smile out of him and he traces the lines of the stag and the doe closest to him with his fingers, before his eyes fall onto a big book that has pieces of parchment and pictures sticking out between the pages.

On second glance, he realises that it’s a photo album and carefully picks it up.

Remus makes a soft, surprised noise and after some consideration and a lingering look at the missing piece of roof and the general destruction of the room, he presses it against his chest and says, “Let’s go back downstairs and check on Sirius, yeah? I don’t think I want to see their bedroom just now, and I could use a place that’s not throwing in my face what has happened here when I look at this.”

Remus watches him for long moments before he nods, and waits until he’s out of the room before he follows.

Sirius is standing in front of the hearth when they come back into the living room, and he’s looking at picture frames he most likely has just repaired. He seems lost in thought but smiles at Hadrian when he steps up next to him.

The living room is clean now, even the windows are sparkling, and he takes a moment to look around and imagine how it would have been to grow up here. It hurts, but it also feels like it settles something deep within him that’s been restless ever since he has witnessed his mother’s death in his memories, and after he just lets it be for a few moments, he takes a deep breath and smiles at Sirius.

“Look what I’ve found. Let’s sit down and have a look, alright?” he says, and keeps a close eye on Sirius’ expression to gauge if this is becoming too much for him. Ever since he has started to ask questions about his parents, it’s getting more and more obvious how much of a sensitive topic they still are for his godfather.

Not that he can blame him; Azkaban is probably the exact opposite of helpful for dealing with grief, and the more he learns about them, the more he understands just how close they were, and how important his father was to Sirius. The other way around as well, of course, but he doesn’t need to have it all spelt out to know that Sirius’ and Regulus’ childhood was worse than his own before he moved in with Regulus.

Sirius doesn’t seem to struggle though; his eyes linger on the album but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips, and he looks like he’s just reliving some fond memory.

They all settle on the couch with Hadrian in the middle and he carefully opens the book to the first page. It’s a picture of his parents and it appears to be their wedding, his mother wearing a white dress and his father traditional dress robes.

A startled laugh escapes him when he notices the big, shaggy dog sitting at their feet, wagging its tail, and Sirius flashes him a grin. “Can’t marry without your dog in attendance, can you?”

Remus gives an exasperated groan that lets him suspect that this is far from the first time he’s hearing the joke, and when Sirius says, “Oi, James loved that joke,” and Remus shoots back, “And Lily hit you over the head every time you made it,” something warm and comfortable spreads through him.

They go through the pages slowly; nearly every picture elicits a new story from one of them, and if they all cry at some point or another, nobody but them has to know.

The pictures end long before the book does, but while it’s still bittersweet, he feels calmer than he has in weeks.

The last picture is of a younger Remus, sitting on the floor of the living room they’re in, leaning against the couch, with a black dog curled up next to him and a toddler cuddled against it. Remus seems to be reading something to the two of them, and Sirius snorts when he sees it.

“Lily always said you should become a professor, looks like she got that one right, too,” Sirius says, and Hadrian looks up in confusion.

Remus’ glare at Sirius is too fond to have any actual effect, and when Sirius only keeps grinning, he sighs and turns to Hadrian. “Well, I’ve meant for it to be a surprise, but _someone_ lacks the subtlety running in his family and can’t keep a secret if there are no lives depending on it.”

He frowns and tilts his head, trying to make sense of this before his eyes widen. “What – are you saying you’re going to teach?”

Remus tries to hide it, but his grin is too pleased to stay off his face for long. “I’ll be your Defence professor this year. Mind you, I’m sure Dumbledore only offered in an attempt to regain some influence over me and thereby Sirius, but I didn’t feel like telling him that it’s a lost cause before I’ve signed the contract.”

He mirrors the grin, though it’s most likely more of a smirk than anything else. “That’s brilliant! Not only will we finally have a competent Defence professor, but I get to see you over the school year, and Dumbledore is going to be so frustrated!”

Remus attempts to look stern but it’s completely useless as Sirius throws his arm around Hadrian’s shoulders, ruffles his hair and says, “I’ve known you’d understand. Your father would be so proud of you.”

As soon as the words are out, Sirius tenses, most likely remembering the soreness of the general topic, but for the first time since he can remember, it neither makes him uncomfortable nor hurts, and he just leans into Sirius, looks back down at the picture and smiles to himself.

* * *

The last week of the holidays flies by as he’s finally getting back into his usual routines, and also tries to make up for all the time he’s missed.

It’s only due to Regulus putting his foot down, with some completely unfair assistance from Death, that he doesn’t spend every waking moment with reading, duelling, exercising, or meditating, in an attempt to cram his workload of two months into a week.

Probably the most endearing thing is Atana though, who doesn’t stray from his side for a second and keeps repeating how glad she is that he is back to normal. He’d feel guilty about the worry he obviously caused her if she didn’t threaten to bite him when he apologized the first time.

Sirius visits once more to discuss some of the coming Wizengamot regulations he will have to vote on. Of course, they’re going to write letters either way but when Hadrian asks him about it, he smirks at him. “You don’t think that I’ve missed that you’re getting better, and therefore know perfectly well that you’re going to bury yourself in work?”

He only rolls his eyes in response, unable to deny it but still wishing to wipe that smug look off of Sirius’ face.

“Anyway, I think the most important issue is the Werewolf-legislation of Umbitch and that’s a decided matter on our part,” Sirius says, sobering remarkably quick, and Hadrian snorts at the name. “I’ve read the program for the months until Yule, and most sessions will be about financial plans. I guess we’re both rather eager to just align your votes on Regulus’ and Arcturus’ opinion for those, right?”

After a quick nod, he bites his lip and ponders if he should bring up what’s been occupying his thoughts for the last week, but Sirius speaks again before he can say anything. “There’s one more thing, though I’ve only heard whispers of it at the last session. Apparently, there are speculations to bring back the Triwizard Tournament next year.”

“The what?” he asks in confusion, because not only was he not paying all that much attention, he has also no idea what that’s supposed to mean.

“It’s a competition between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Three tasks for three champions and the winner earns a thousand Galleons and eternal glory,” Sirius explains, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Well, considering I’ve never even heard of the tournament, much less who has won it in the past, that seems like a rather empty promise,” he says dryly and tries to hide his grin at Sirius’ long-suffering sigh.

“They’ve stopped it because the death toll was too high,” Sirius says, and Hadrian swears that he can see a pout. “I’m sure they’d only re-install it with revised rules and some safe-guards. I just thought that you’d like some time to research it before you have to decide how you want to vote if it ever comes to that.”

“Thanks,” he says, and shifts in his chair, thoughts straying back to the topic he was thinking about before this.

Of course, Sirius catches on to his nervousness quickly and raises a questioning eyebrow at him. The problem is that he’s uncertain if Sirius is the best person to bring this up with the first time, but eventually, he takes a breath and looks at him. “I’ve been thinking about Azkaban, and Dementors.”

Sirius’ eyes flash, but otherwise, he doesn’t seem to be bothered, so he goes on, “I think it’s despicable, the whole concept and that nobody questions it. And I’ve been thinking if it wouldn’t be possible to bring up a petition to change at least some aspects about it.”

Sirius looks thoughtful and stays silent for a while before he answers. “That’s a noble idea, but I’m rather sure that you’d be hard-pressed to find actual support in the Wizengamot for it, regardless of the fraction. Not to mention that people may accuse you of siding with the dark or something. After all, we do have some nasty family members in there.”

He scowls faintly, not because of Bellatrix but because there are obviously too many people who are just fine with torture if it’s not the Dark Lord doing it.

“Also, it’s uncommon for someone newly initiated, and underage on top of that, to propose changes of this magnitude,” Sirius says, but then he smiles. “That’s not to say that you shouldn’t do it – just, I’d advise you to do a lot of research, come up with alternatives, solutions of what to do with the Dementors if it goes through, and build up an argument that would make anyone who votes against you appear inhumane. That would at least weaken most possible accusations, and probably gather some reluctant support.”

It’s good advice and he nods while making a few notes of what Sirius said. They spend some more time going over his progress with his meditation but, just as he has expected, he’s not far enough yet for Sirius to instruct him further.

He’s unable to hide his annoyance over his lack of progress over the summer, but Sirius pulls him into a hug and says, “Kiddo, it’s fine that you’re not working yourself into an early grave and I think, in the long run, it’s only going to be helpful that you took some time to start making your peace with it. It won’t be just over because you feel better now, but you’re getting there and that’s more important than everything else.”

Even without Sirius knowing the half of it, he can’t deny that he really has a point, and resigns himself to accept it. At least it was over the holidays and didn’t influence his schoolwork in any way.

* * *

Returning to Hogwarts is both nice and annoying; he has missed his friends, but not everything else that comes with being at school.

As soon as they enter the common room after the Welcoming Feast, heads turn into his direction and whispers break out. He frowns and looks at Blaise, who stares at him before he gives an exasperated sigh, slings an arm around his shoulders and stirs them into the direction of their couch in the corner.

“Did you, by any means, forget that everybody knows about your Gryffindor heirship now?” he says like he’s talking to a small child, and Hadrian would have sent a Stinging Hex at him if he wouldn’t have a point. Also, he _did_ kind of forget about it.

A groan is his only response, and he lets his head drop against the backrest and stares at the ceiling, silently pleading for patience.

Thankfully, Daphne seems to sense his reluctance to actually discuss this now and they spend the remaining evening talking about their holidays, their electives, and the Hogsmeade trips they can finally attend.

After Snape has held his introduction for the new first years, he pointedly clears his throat and gestures for Hadrian to follow him, who does so with some confusion. He’s rather sure that there’s nothing that would warrant any trouble yet.

“Sit down,” Snape says when he closes the door to his office behind them.

“Sir?” he asks when Snape takes some time to rummage through his desk, and his impatience is growing too uncomfortable.

An unimpressed look is his answer, but Snape seems to finally find what he’s been searching for and sets a small box on the desk. “You’ve chosen nearly every elective there is, except Divination,” he says, and his face gives away nothing.

“I’m not fond of Professor Trelawney,” he answers cautiously. He’s certain that Snape is unaware that he knows about the Prophecy and Snape’s involvement in the whole mess, but he also doesn’t see the need to lie just yet.

There’s a short flicker of pain in Snape’s eyes, but his voice is unaffected when he speaks. “That’s neither here nor there. What I mean to say is that it’s impossible for you to attend all of them, as some of the courses take place at the same time.”

He sighs and nods. “I’ve expected as much. Which ones do? I’m set on – “

Snape raises a hand to stop him, and he frowns. “I’m not saying that you have to drop any of them.”

“But how – “

“Would you let me speak?” Snape says in exasperation and he smiles sheepishly. “Seeing that you’re top of your year and, at least mostly, a student who doesn’t get into much trouble, I decided to make use of a rule that’s seldom used, and filed a request at the Ministry for you to receive a time-turner.”

“Wait, what?” he exclaims in astonishment; his mind has still been occupied with laughing over the part of him not getting into much trouble, and the announcement has caught him completely unaware.

“A time-turner,” Snape repeats, his lips pressing together like he’s only just keeping himself from making a snide remark. “It goes backwards for five hours and will allow you to attend courses that take place simultaneously. I’m sure that you know what a show of trust this is, and that you have to keep it absolutely quiet.”

“Of course, Professor,” he says before he can come up with any more stupid nonsense, and takes the box Snape pushes over to him. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

Snape only nods and sends him off to bed with another word of caution, and he has to force himself to not tell his friends about it. He will probably let Blaise know, but he can see how it could be seen as favouritism and after the whole mess with Draco last year, he’s not inclined to risk this happening again.

Still, he’s brimming with excitement, already calculating how much additional time he’s going to have with this.

* * *

The next day is a Thursday and the first half of it passes uneventfully; the older Slytherins are still watching him and he’s sure that there is going to be a confrontation sooner or later, but for now, he chooses to ignore it.

They have their first Defence lesson this afternoon, and for the first time in two years, he’s actually looking forward to the subject.

Remus greets them all and then tells them to follow him out of the classroom. All of his friends look at Hadrian like he’s supposed to know what’s happening but he only shrugs. It’s not as if Remus went over his plans with him.

After a short, amusing incident with Peeve’s that has Remus only rise in the estimation of him and everyone else, they step into what appears to be the staff room, empty but for Snape who sneers at their group and instantly leaves.

It’s only then that he remembers the immense dislike between his Head of House and his father’s friends, and he barely keeps himself from groaning. This has the potential to become annoying _very_ fast, and he vows to himself to stay out of it by any means necessary.

His train of thought is interrupted when the wardrobe in the corner rattles, and it only takes him a moment to understand what they will have to do. Oh Salazar.

He answers a few of Remus’ questions and otherwise tries to determine what form his Boggart is most likely going to take; he has no idea, just knows that he’d rather not discover it in front of both the Slytherins and Gryffindors. At least he’ll see everyone else’s fear in return; small mercies.

The differences between the two houses have rarely been this obvious; the Gryffindors are taking up the front rows with determined expressions, while the Slytherins linger in the back, more or less successful in hiding their wariness.

There are banshees and mummies, and he feels a strange mix of envy and condescension for fears this simple.

Neville is the first, serious surprise, and he looks like he has known beforehand what would await him. Four people in black robes appear, three men and a women Hadrian knows from the occasional, hidden picture at Grimmauld Place – Bellatrix.

While the three men are a silent, menacing presence, she’s sneering. “Little Neville, unable to save or even avenge his parents. Barely even a wizard, but deluding himself into – “

“Riddikulus!” Neville shouts, and while his hands are trembling, his voice is full of rage and determination. All four of them shrink until they’re as small as pixies, and Remus doesn’t waste any time to call the next person forwards.

Daphne’s Boggart takes the form of her little sister who has just started Hogwarts. Astoria stares at her with hatred burning in her eyes and spews accusations of Daphne condemning her to a horrible life by not protecting her better before she’s turned into a puppet.

The class has become more silent by now, the laughter less boisterous, but Daphne’s expression doesn’t give anything away if you don’t know her.

He’s not surprised when Theo has to face his father, but his chest is getting tighter with each of his friends’ personal horrors, and he wonders what it says about them that they have fears this serious compared to many of their classmates.

Blaise is the last one left before him, and it’s his Boggart that catches him completely off guard; it’s him, cramping and convulsing on the floor with blood dripping out of his mouth, but his eyes are fixed on Blaise, who seems frozen to his spot.

“Why – how could you let this happen? How could you do this to me?” Boggart-Hadrian rasps out between coughs, and when he sees Blaise sway on his feet, he snaps out of his shock and steps in front of him.

Remus jerks like he wants to hold him back, but a quick look and a shake of his head make him stop. It’s not only that he wants to shield Blaise from this, whatever _this_ is, but also that he needs to know what form it will take for him, needs to confront his own demons.

For a few moments, nothing happens, until his copy shifts into a dark, formless shape. He’s just thinking that it’s going to take the form of Voldemort’s wraith and wonders how that’s possible, as it wasn’t exactly fear that he felt, but then it moves and twirls, twisting like it can’t decide which form to settle on.

Then it divides itself and a strangled noise escapes him when one part takes the form of Regulus, bruised and pale and shaking, and the second one becomes a Dementor that’s just closing in on him before changing directions towards Hadrian.

His heart is beating violently in his throat, he can’t breathe and his hands are shaking, but he’s still thinking that he has to save Regulus who is just turning into Blaise and back again, needs to make sure that the Dementor doesn’t get to either of them, but he can’t do it. He’s unable to move, his vision is blurring and there’s this scream in his head again, becoming louder and more insistent, a cruel laugh, a green light, and fear, fear, fear –

When he comes back to himself, Remus is kneeling next to him, his face pale and eyes worried, and he can hear whispers behind himself. Great, just really, fucking great.

While Remus dismisses the class, he pulls himself up, only to slump into the nearest chair and rub his temples. There’s a headache blooming behind his forehead and he wonders how ‘Dementor’ wasn’t the absolute first thing to come to mind when he was considering his Boggart.

That Regulus and Blaise were added into the mix really isn’t that much of a surprise either, but then again, that’s always easy to say in hindsight.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks, and he sounds like he isn’t asking this question for the first time.

He shakes himself once and attempts a smile. “Yeah, fine. I probably should do something about that, though. Do you know the Patronus Charm?”

Remus sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Of course you’d know about that. I do, but it’s very advanced magic and I’m not sure how useful it’s going to be for you, seeing that you shouldn’t encounter Dementors all that often.”

“Probably, but I’d still prefer to be able to defend myself if I do. Or my friends and family. Can you teach me? Please?” Usually, he wouldn’t plead this much but it’s Remus, and he’s really rather sick of fainting. Of course, he could try to learn it by himself, but it would take much longer, which is just not a bearable thought.

It might be due to some lingering guilt over not stepping in sooner, but after a few moments of silence, Remus nods. “Alright, but I can’t promise you that you will be able to cast it soon. Not only because it’s difficult, but also because the Charm is harder for people who aren’t… completely light.”

He just shrugs. “I have to try. Thanks, Remus,” he says with a smile and gets up. “I’ll see you later.”

It’s only then that he notices the shattered wardrobe and scorch-marks on the wall behind it, and he turns again to look at Remus in confusion.

“You’re magic acted out before you fainted, I’m rather sure you didn’t do it consciously.”

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can come up with, eyes still lingering on the tiny pieces of wood, but Remus just waves him off and throws him a bar of chocolate.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’m the one who should be sorry that I didn’t think to intervene faster.”

“No,” he says with more force than he thought himself capable of right now. “Alright, neither of us blames ourselves. I mean it, Remus.”

Remus sighs but smiles, and while it doesn’t completely reach his eyes, he nods. It’s a start, and after saying his goodbyes, and promises to go to Madame Pomfrey if anything feels amiss, he leaves the staff room.

He’s so lost in thought that he only notices Weasley and Finnigan when he nearly runs into them at the end of the corridor, and he doesn’t bother to hide his groan. With each year, Hogwarts is becoming more and more like navigating a minefield, and he’s _really_ not in the mood for this.

“Careful Potter, or you might faint again,” Weasley says with a smirk, all gleefulness and satisfaction.

“Well, better than being scared of spiders if you ask me,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes and raising a brow. “Also, I’d like to see your reaction to witnessing your mother’s death. Now, if you’d excuse me.” With that, he sidesteps the duo that’s apparently rendered speechless by his admission and continues down the corridor.

“Don’t worry about them,” a soft voice speaks up from behind him and damn it, he needs to work on his situational awareness. “He has a lot of Wrackspurts.”

A look over his shoulder shows him a small girl with ash-blond hair, a slightly crumpled Ravenclaw uniform and some very odd earrings. Her eyes seem distant despite being fixed on him, and she smiles serenely.

“Wrackspurts?” he asks with a tilt of his head, and her smile grows.

“Oh yes,” she says with a nod. “They’re invisible creatures that make your brain go fuzzy.”

“Well, they definitely have some fuzziness in their brain,” he mutters, too tired to question her any further. “Thanks, though. What’s your name?”

She looks surprised by his question and he frowns. “I’m Luna, Luna Lovegood.”

“Nice to meet you, Luna. I’ll see you around.”

A quick look at his timetable tells him that he has Muggle Studies next and that he has to use his time-turner to attend Arithmancy as well. It only takes him a second to decide that he’s going to use the neat, little artefact to take a nap first, because there’s no way he can sit through a single lesson right now.

Merlin bless Snape’s slightly misplaced trust in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think of everyone's Boggart? And the Godric's Hollow scene? <3


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all of you! <3

Despite nearly two hours of napping, Hadrian still feels drained and sluggish when he enters the Muggle Studies classroom.

He’s one of the last to arrive, barely making it in time, and a quick look around shows him that he’s the only Slytherin in this class. Well, who would have thought. To be fair, the class seems small in general and most students are from Ravenclaw, with a few Hufflepuffs, and Granger and Thomas from Gryffindor.

He takes a seat next to a Hufflepuff he remembers didn’t lose his shit when his Parseltongue-ability was revealed – Justin, if he remembers correctly – and gives him a nod before pulling out his parchment and quills.

The class isn’t the most demanding but that’s mostly due to Professor Burbage starting with a general introduction of the curriculum and trying to determine how much everyone knows – there’s science, literature, and politics on the plan for the year, and he thinks that it makes sense.

He hasn’t kept up with the Muggle world since he left the Dursleys. At first, he was just glad to leave all of it as far behind as possible, and then he became so occupied with his other areas of study that he simply never found the time. But if he really wants to change the opinions on blood-purity, it’s probably necessary to have more than basic knowledge of what he remembers from his first eight years of life, of which he spent most holed up in his bedroom, or in a bloody _cupboard_.

“Wouldn’t have expected to see you here,” Granger says when the class is over, but she’s smiling faintly which is why he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

A shrug is still his only response as he’s currently occupied with searching for an opportunity to slink away to go back an hour. He should probably start to carry around his Invisibility Cloak again.

When he looks back down at her, she’s still watching him and it occurs to him that he’s being a little rude, and smiles. “Sorry, yeah – I mean, I lived with Muggles for some time but definitely not long enough to consider myself knowledgeable, you know? And I think there are a lot of things we could learn from them.”

Her smile brightens and she nods, her hair bobbing around her head. “Exactly! The wizarding world is so set in their ways – “ it sounds like she’d be going on a rant any second, but then she seems to remember something and cuts herself off. “Sorry, I uh – have to go. I’ll see you around!”

She’s gone before he can answer, and he shakes his head while slipping into an unused classroom where he pulls out the time-turner.

All of his friends except for Tracey have Arithmancy with him, and it takes him a moment to understand why they all look tense and tired – for them, the bloody Boggart-lesson was only twenty minutes ago.

Thankfully, he remembers just in time to not be confused at their subtle glances and quiet questions if he’s alright, and then they have to focus on the lesson as Arithmancy is far more demanding than Muggle Studies.

Still, it gives him enough time to actually think about the different Boggarts again, and he chances a few glances at Blaise who’s untypically quiet and drawn into himself.

They walk back into the dungeon together while the others disappear into the library, and both don’t say a word until they reach their dorms.

Hadrian isn’t sure how to bring it up – he thinks that it’s probably not that usual to have your best friend die or have their soul sucked out as your Boggart form, and he has no idea how to not make this awkward.

He refuses to let it deter him though and flops down next to Blaise on his bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when the silence has stretched for a while, both of them staring at the canopy while their arms are pressed together in a silent gesture of reassurance that it was just a Boggart.

He can feel Blaise shrug against him. “Not really, to be honest. Do you?”

He hums, thinking about it for a moment – there’s not much to talk about when it comes down to it. They’re both scared to lose the other, one way or another. They’re both scared to be the ones to blame or at least unable to do anything about it, and they’ve always had a particularly strong bond ever since they’ve met.

“No, not really,” he says out loud once he comes to that conclusion, but presses a bit closer.

They stay like this until Theo comes in some time later, and barely spares them a glance before falling onto his own bed. “Who in Salazar’s name thinks it’s a good idea to have a bunch of third-years face their greatest fear in front of half of their year?” he grouches, voice half-muffled in his pillow, and Hadrian grimaces at the reminder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, turning his head to look at Theo, who gives a deep sigh before dislodging his face from the pillow to meet his eyes.

“Yes – no. I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I was surprised to see him, but…” he shrugs, obviously unable to put it into words.

Hadrian bites his lip and considers what to say before he takes a breath. “Is it getting worse? I mean – obviously, it was already bad enough but...”

Theo sits up and leans against his headboard, fingers fiddling with his sleeve. Hadrian just thinks that he will probably brush him off again when Theo runs a hand over his face and speaks again. “Yes, he’s getting more impatient and takes it out on me. I don’t think I’ve left my room more times than I can count on one hand this summer, and that was the nicest part of my holidays.”

Blaise growls lowly next to him and the sound expresses rather well what Hadrian himself feels, but for him, there’s also some guilt mixed in between. “I’m sorry,” he says, and quickly shakes his head when Theo opens his mouth. “I know it’s not actually my fault but your fathers’, but – I’m sorry that it’s this bad. We should come up with something that seems kind of big that you can tell him, so maybe he leaves you alone a bit more.”

Theo smiles mirthlessly and shakes his head. “I don’t want to give up anything on you. Especially because it won’t do much good in the long run, anyway. It’s not like he has only started being an asshole when I’ve met you.”

“Either way,” he says, more forcefully than intended, and sits up as well. “I don’t know, start with telling him about my Boggart and the extreme effect Dementors have on me. I know that Regulus and Arcturus managed to keep what happened at Lockhart’s trial mostly under wraps, so that should maybe placate him for a while. And we’ll come up with something.”

Theo looks like he might protest, but Hadrian raises a brow and glares, and eventually, Theo sags slightly. “Alright, I – thank you.”

“Also, you are always welcome to stay with us. I know it’s difficult and all but – you don’t have to deal with all that alone, yeah?” he adds, and gratefulness outweighs the vague discomfort in Theo’s expression by far.

* * *

The next day starts out more promising; it’s already Friday and the short first week has everybody in high spirits. They have Herbology and Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, and Hadrian has to hide a smile when McGonagall tells them that they’ll cover the theory of Animagi this year.

Sirius told him at the end of the holidays that they were never sure if McGonagall actually knew what they did, but if she knows, she doesn’t show it in any way.

After lunch, Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes take place simultaneously, and he decides to do Runes first as he shares the class with most of his friends. Professor Babbling is a small, stern witch who doesn’t waste a moment to get them started, and he thinks his head would be whirring as much as the next best students’ if he didn’t pester Arcturus about Runes ever since that first Christmas where he used them in a duel.

It does work to his advantage though because he easily slips away from Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and Milli and finds a hidden alcove to turn back more than an hour and make his way outside.

They’ve all been surprised when Dumbledore announced Hagrid as the new Care teacher, but Hadrian is resolved to reserve judgement until he’s seen how the man teaches.

There are many Gryffindors in the course, as well as Draco, Pansy, Greg, and Goyle, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he finds Tracey and Neville a few feet aside.

“Think it’s a good idea to have Atana around a bunch of whatever animals we start with today?” Tracey asks as soon as he’s close enough to hear her, and he groans at the realisation that she’s right.

Atana is still slightly clingy and insists to come along for his classes, and he didn’t really consider that she, small or not, probably wasn’t the best thing to have around for this particular lesson.

_$As if I am afraid at some animals,$_ she grumbles, and he snorts, lifting her out of his hood.

_$It’s not about you being afraid,$_ he says, crouching down. _$But about the animals we’ll have to deal with here. Are you alright with going back to the dorm?$_

She huffs and he swears she would roll her eyes if she could, but regrows herself, flicks her tail against his nose and disappears into the direction of the castle just as Hagrid steps around his hut and claps his hands together.

“I know I should be used to her by now, but I sometimes forget how big she actually is,” Neville mutters to him, and he thinks that it’s probably a good thing that he’s the only one who will ever know what is sleeping underneath the school.

Well. He and Tom, and he cuts that train of thought off before it can manifest itself. He hasn’t touched the diary since he unloaded all his rage on Tom, and he’s not sure how they’re supposed to move on from this at all.

Most of his anger has disappeared, but some guilt and uncertainty still lingers, and to top it off, some shame that he lost his temper so thoroughly, no matter how justified.

Tracey’s elbow in his side pulls him back to the present, just in time to catch the announcement that they will start on Hippogriffs today and to take a step back with everyone else when Hagrid asks who wants to go first.

Seriously, he’s not sure if Hippogriffs are the best introduction to this subject, but he’s not going to be the one to try, and barely suppresses his snort when Ron Weasley eventually volunteers. It’s like some Gryffindors think that a lack of self-preservation is something to be proud of.

It does go over well, and after Weasley took a flight around the school grounds, returning windswept, shaky, and pale, they split up into small groups and introduce themselves to the admittedly strangely beautiful creatures.

Neville, Tracey, and he somehow end up next to Draco, Pansy, Greg, and Goyle, and he overhears Draco say, “You’re not that complicated, are you?”

“Draco,” he hisses before he can stop himself, and he doesn’t know who’s more surprised between the two of them. Well, too late to go back on it now and he just takes care to keep his face impassive. “Nobody wants to hear you whining for two months if you get mauled by a Hippogriff, so for Merlin’s sake, just follow the instructions.”

For a second, he thinks Draco will snap at him or start a fight, but then he swallows, juts out his chin and with a mumbled “Whatever,” turns away. He is more careful after that though, so Hadrian isn’t fooled in any way.

It gets him questioning glances from Tracey and Neville, but he just grins, says, “Old habits die hard,” and bows to the jet-black Hippogriff in front of him.

When the lesson is over, he’s relieved to see that he has the last period free today and decides to grab some food from the kitchen before he starts on his rather large pile of homework. The four additional subjects are already noticeable, and it’s only been two days of school.

He’s just glad that they have the electives only once a week, and every other subject is reduced to two times a week. It’s not that he’s that worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep up, but he does have other things he needs to spend time on.

“Master Harry Potter, Sir,” startles him out of his thoughts and he blinks a few times to be sure that he’s really seeing what he thinks he is.

“Dobby? What are you doing here?” he asks, smiling down at the small elf.

“Master Regulus Black has sent Dobby to work at Hogwarts, Sir! He’s been saying that Dobby can keep an eye on Master Hadrian – but to not try saving him without talking to Master Regulus first.” He gestures for Hadrian to come closer and when he crouches down, comes close enough that only he can hear him. “He told Dobby to tell the old Master of Hogwarts that Dobby is a free elf and that he’s searching for work. Hogwarts Master doesn’t know Dobby is working for Master’s Hadrian and Regulus.”

He presses a hand against his mouth to stifle his laugh and puts the other on Dobby’s shoulder. “Well done, Dobby, I’m glad to have you here. Do you think I can have some sandwiches and a coffee?”

Dobby beams at him before he disappears into the bustle of the kitchen, and he sits down at one of the tables. He’s rather sure that it’s not the only reason why Dobby is here; he and Kreacher constantly got into fights, and despite his rather withdrawn state over the summer holidays, it was obvious that it was starting to grate on Regulus’ nerves.

It’s a good solution either way and as long as Dobby is satisfied, he doesn’t care much. Fooling Dumbledore is just another plus, spiteful as it may be.

* * *

The next weeks fly by as they tend to do once he’s back at school. He starts his potions lessons with Snape again after he promised several times that he’s not going to overwork himself, and yes he’s going to get enough sleep and no, Regulus won’t turn up on Snape’s doorstep to accuse him of not taking care of his charge.

It’s not only his general interest in potions that leads him to insist so much; for the first time, he actually wants to do it because it makes him feel closer to his mother, and he’s going over her notes with a new perspective.

She really was a brilliant witch, and he spends more hours on it than he did the previous years, researching methods for the defensive potion they’re still working on, as well as trying to track back the thought-process she must have had.

The time-turner is even more of a blessing than he expected. Technically, he would only need it on Thursdays and Fridays to attend his overlapping classes, but he quickly integrates it into his every-day-life in a way he’s rather sure he’s not supposed to.

In the afternoon, when his classes are over, he turns back a full five hours so that he’s back in his dorm when his other self just starts his day. He takes a nap of one or two hours and spends the remaining three doing homework, reading, meditating, working on the translations of Salazar’s notebooks, keeping up with the proceedings of the Wizengamot, researching whatever has him currently occupied, or disappears to practice his duelling.

If he’s really set on getting through something, he repeats the same thing in the evening, disappearing into the Room of Requirement or the Chamber for hours on end, but Death tends to turn up and put his foot down if he does that too often, and he can admit that adding ten hours to his day, even with the occasional nap, is not very healthy in the long run.

He would be lying if he said that it isn’t also a way to distract himself. After his two months of brooding over the summer, he’s now at a stage where he wants to forget about it all for a bit, and plunging himself into work has always been his preferred method.

It’s nearly the end of September when there’s a note on the board in the common room about Quidditch, and he frowns when he reads that Flint won’t make the established players defend their positions as last year.

Not that he minds; he’s rather glad to be spared the whole mess of going through try-outs again, but it means that there are no new spots on the team, and it doesn’t seem particularly fair to him.

He has a good idea of why, though. Landon Avery, who has been top of the house hierarchy for the last two years, graduated last summer and right now, there’s sort of a stalemate for the top spot between Flint and Rowle, a seventh year.

Flint’s advantage is the Quidditch team and that most of his friends are in it, and if they lose their positions, it would weaken his claim.

It’s going to end in a duel eventually, Hadrian is sure, but regardless of the tension the whole conflict causes in Slytherin, it currently works to his advantage. While they’re all watching him closely, they’re too busy sorting themselves out to actually bother with him.

In the end, he’s still only a third-year and they don’t take him seriously enough to see him as a real threat to their positions. He’s not sure he could be if he sets his mind to it, but he’s rather fine with having at least one year left before he gets into the middle of things.

“Good for us, isn’t it?” Blaise asks from next to him, and he startles at being addressed.

“Sure,” he mutters, casting a Tempus and frowning at the time. “Shit, sorry, I have to go. I talk to you later, yeah?” he says, already turning towards the exit of the common room, but Blaise’s hand around his wrist stops him.

“Are you coming to the dungeon room later?” he asks, and he watches Hadrian’s face with strangely concerned eyes.

He stops to consider it but then shakes his head. “Sorry, I have a meeting with Remus now, after that I need to look some stuff up in the library, and then I’ll meet with Snape.”

Blaise doesn’t let go of him though and he tilts his head, raising a questioning brow.

“We rarely see you anymore. Granted, if we join you in the library we do, but then you’re so absorbed in things that we have to physically shake you out of it. You’re strangely distant, disappear randomly at the oddest times, and – “

“Listen,” he interrupts, the red letters of his Tempus still glowing and telling him that he’s pretty close to running late. “I’m sorry, okay? But I really have to go, I’ll talk to you later.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just tugs his hand out of Blaise’s cool fingers and jogs out of the common room, nearly running into Daphne.

She shouts something after him, but he ignores it and curses under his breath; it’s ridiculous that he’s this stressed even with the added time to his day, but he doesn’t have _time_ to consider it much further. The irony isn’t lost on him.

He arrives at Remus’ office slightly out of breath and makes a mental note to reinstall his morning runs into his daily schedule.

“Hey Remus,” he greets as soon as he opens the door and startles when he finds Snape standing in front of the desk. There’s a steaming goblet on it, and both Remus and Snape look at him like he has just caught them doing something wrong. Or well, Remus does; Snape merely raises a brow.

“Mr Potter-Black, did you ever hear of knocking?” he drawls, and he ducks his head to hide his smile.

“I’m sorry, Professor. Should I wait outside?”

“No, it’s alright. Come in, Hadrian,” Remus says before Snape can answer and he closes the door behind him. His eyes linger on the goblet for a moment before he gets it – Wolfsbane, of course.

“Better drink it soon,” Snape says, a sneer curling his lips and leaves the room with a swipe of his robes.

Hadrian flops down into the chair and nods towards the goblet. “Nice of him to make that for you,” he says, and it’s only when Remus’ eyes widen and he tenses in his chair that it occurs to him that Remus might have no idea that he knows about his lycanthropy.

Which is kind of stupid, seeing that _Sirius_ knows that he knows, but well. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, just hoping that Remus won’t ask who told him. He doesn’t want to blame Sirius, but he can hardly tell him about Death.

Remus sags in his chair and smiles wryly. “I should have known that you wouldn’t be bothered.”

“Of course not,” he says with a scowl, stretching out his legs in front of him. “It’s why they became Animagi, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed. Something I will never forget them,” Remus says, his eyes warm as he takes the goblet.

Hadrian bites back a remark about Pettigrew, Animagi-forms and symbolism, and decides to change the topic. “I’ve read up on the charm and tried to practice, but I don’t get more than a very, _very_ faint mist.”

Remus’ eyebrows raise and he sits up straighter. “That’s impressive! Show me?”

He nods and gets up, takes a moment to gather himself and casts, “Expecto Patronum.”

As the last hundred times, a pitiful cloud of grey smoke puffs out of his wand, lingers and twirls for a moment, and then dissipates again.

Remus hums and steps up next to him. “Your wand-movement and incantation are flawless. May I ask which memory you are using?”

He swallows; it’s not that he didn’t prepare himself for the question, and neither that he doesn’t trust Remus. He does far more than he would have expected, two years ago, but it still feels strangely personal. “I swap them around, from time to time. The first time I went flying with Regulus,  the first time I did magic, exploring Hamburg with Blaise during the Duelling Competition last year – things like that.”

Remus nods and rubs his chin. “Those are not bad, but most likely not powerful enough. Think of something else while I get the trunk where I have another Boggart in?”

“Wait – we’re going to practice with another one, directly?” he asks with raised eyebrows, watching as Remus walks to the other end of the room and levitates a big, old trunk into the middle of it

“Sure, it won’t do you any good to manage a Patronus only when there’s no danger, right?” Remus says with a grin, and Hadrian resigns himself to Gryffindor teaching-methods. It’s not like he can’t see the merit, but well – lack of self-preservation, pride, and all that.

The lesson goes as well as can be expected; the Boggart turns into a Dementor and Regulus or Blaise, Hadrian panics, casts some useless smoke he could achieve with a cigarette, faints, Remus gives him chocolate, he tries again. It feels like each time he witnesses a bit more of his parents’ death, but he keeps that to himself, convinced that Remus wouldn’t let him go on if he knew.

The lack of progress is frustrating to no end; he’s rarely had this much trouble with a spell and it rubs him the wrong way, but it also only makes him more resolved to master it. Remus has to put a stop to it eventually, and he can admit that he’s completely knackered.

“You did better than I would have expected, for the first time,” Remus tells him over a cup of tea and another bar of chocolate. “I know you’re considered a prodigy in most of your classes, but still – the Patronus is hard, and it’s not like light magic comes naturally to you.”

He raises a brow at that – not because Remus doesn’t know about his areas of interest, but because it’s closer to an allusion to his core than anything Remus has ever said before.

Remus only smiles though. “You can mask your magic all you want, and that works fantastically on humans – but I’m a dark creature, and we can sense who is a friend and who’s a potential enemy. You’re not dark, but you’re not light, either.”

Well then. You always learn something new, don’t you?

* * *

Their first session of Quidditch training is on the first Friday of October, and it’s pouring and storming in typical Scotland-fashion. Hadrian reconsiders his decision to stay on the team several times over the two hours Flint chases them over the pitch, and wonders if the whole house would turn on him if he leaves now.

Maybe he should let Draco step in for him once, it might finally set his head straight.

Blaise and he are walking back to the castle in silence, their feet dragging over the wet ground, and he can’t wait to fall into his bed. But when they enter the Entrance Hall, Blaise grabs his wrist and pulls him towards the staircases.

“What – where are we going?” he mutters, his voice already heavy with exhaustion, but Blaise only shoots him a look over his shoulder that tells him to shut up, and so he does.

He’s not sure he would if he had any more energy left, but it doesn’t really matter.

They reach the seventh floor eventually, and he raises an eyebrow at him while Blaise paces in front of the empty stretch of wall. “Don’t tell me you feel like duelling, just now?”

Blaise snorts and shakes his head before he pulls the door open.

It’s not anywhere close to how they set the room up last year for their training, and there’s a pang in his chest when he realises that they’ve not done this once since this school year has started.

The room is small and cosy, mostly resembling a study without an actual desk. There’s a fire burning with a large, comfortable-looking couch in front of it and a coffee table, and Blaise pushes him wordlessly down on it before flopping next to him and rummaging through his bag.

“Are you finally going to tell me what we’re doing here? You know, if Theo’s snoring gets on your nerves, cast a Silencing Charm,” he says, but kicks off his boots and pulls his knees to his chest, sinking deeper into the cushions.

“No,” Blaise says, and finally turns towards him with a bottle in his hand that he dangles in front of Hadrian’s face. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I have two bottles of fantastic firewhiskey, which we are going to drink, and you’re going to tell me what’s gotten into you.”

“What – “

“No, listen. You’ve always kept yourself busy and had a thousand and one projects, but never like this. You’re barely spending time with any of us, you don’t talk to us about anything but homework, and you’re obviously not okay. You’ve not been okay on your birthday and don’t get me wrong, it’s better now than back then, but something is still definitely wrong and I’m not letting you out of here until you tell me.”

He’s – speechless, kind of. “I’d like to see you try,” he says anyway, with a smirk, but it slips when Blaise doesn’t laugh. He takes a moment to think about it, and can’t deny that he has a point.

“Alright, let me have some of that whiskey and I’ll tell you,” he says with a sigh. Blaise doesn’t move, just narrows his eyes and he huffs. “Seriously, I’m not going to trick you.”

Finally, Blaise grins and cracks the bottle open. “Ever had some of this?” he asks before he takes a sip, his grin turning mischievous as he hands it over, and fuck, he only realises now how much he has missed this. How could he not notice that he completely withdrew from all his friends?

He takes a few, careful sips and grins smugly at Blaise when he doesn’t even pull a grimace. Putting the bottle on the table, he leans against the armrest and throws his feet into Blaise’s lap. “Black family tradition – when you’re in the middle of your first family drama, you get your first drink.”

“Of course,” Blaise says, rolling his eyes. “And yours?”

He snorts at the memory and closes his eyes for a moment. “Christmas during first year. Let’s just say that Druella and Cygnus weren’t that ecstatic about my presence. Add Sirius just out of Azkaban into the mix, and you can probably guess.”

Blaise nods sagely before he laughs, sinking deeper into the cushion and curling one hand around his ankle. “I want to see the Pensive memory of that. Mind you – the fight, _and_ your first firewhiskey. Anyway, spill. What’s gotten into you?”

He takes a deep breath, takes another few sips, and starts with Lockhart’s trial. He’s only gotten to the point where the Dementors were drifting towards him when Blaise interrupts him. “Why didn’t you tell me that it was this bad? You made it sound like a minor inconvenience.”

Blaise’s voice is strangely serious and when he blinks up at him, there’s a deep crease between his brows and actual hurt is flashing in his eyes. He bites his tongue, taken off guard by how bad he feels about it, and shakes his head. “I… Let me tell you all of it first?” he asks, and Blaise seems to find something in his expression because he nods, takes the bottle from him and turns his head to keep looking at him.

Recounting the memory of his mother’s death is still as painful as ever, but somehow, Blaise’s presence helps and he gets through it. He stops, then, because this is something he has not thought through beforehand – to understand the whole magnitude of it all, he would have to tell Blaise about Voldemort, about Horcruxes, about – well, nearly everything. Of course, he could just leave it at this but not only does he feel like he owes the truth to him, but he actually wants to tell him.

“Are you alright?” Blaise asks softly and he sighs, pulling himself back up into a more upright position and presses their shoulders together.

“As much as can be, but – listen. I want – _need_ to tell you something but it’s… dangerous. And I don’t mean ‘We could get detention if it comes out’- dangerous, but ‘If someone finds out, we’ll have a huge target on our back’- dangerous. So, would you take a vow? It would protect you against Legilimency, Veritaserum, and other means,” he says, turning his head to look at him while chewing on his bottom lip.

It’s not like he has never considered telling Blaise about these things; he already knows much more than any of his friends, especially about Quirrell and the stone in first year, and whatever else he picked up the summer he stayed with them. But it’s still monumental, and he doesn’t want to put him into harm's way. There’s still a Dementor closing in on Blaise and Regulus haunting his dreams, and he really doesn’t want to add to that.

“Of course,” Blaise says, voice full of conviction as if it’s the easiest decision he could possibly make.

“Blaise – “

“No,” Blaise says, moving so his whole upper body is facing him. “I mean, you saw my Boggart and you can probably guess what it means. I’m not going to spell it out, but you’re my best friend, I want to know what’s bothering you, and if that means taking a vow than for Merlin’s sake, that’s the least I can do. Fuck, Daphne did in first year, so what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“It’s not about that – I didn’t trust Daphne fully, but – I would tell you without one if it was only about trust,” he says, his hand clenching around the bottle.

Blaise just smiles. “I know, but it would drive you mad not to be sure, so really – of course I will. Just tell me the wording.”

For a moment, he considers how mad Regulus will be about it, but he disregards it. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he cares about both of them, and he’s sure that Regulus will understand. Kind of. Hopefully.

He puts the bottle down and thinks about it carefully. “I think a vow that you’ll never talk to anyone about what I’m telling you tonight about Tom Marvolo Riddle, Voldemort, and my connection to them, as well as Regulus Black’s involvement, should do.”

Blaise tilts his head, curiosity entering his eyes, but he pulls his wand and lays it flat on his palm. “I, Blaise Zabini, swear upon my magic that I will never tell anyone about what Hadrian James Potter-Black tells me about Tom Marvolo Riddle, V – Voldemort, their connection, and Regulus Black’s involvement. So I say it, so mote it be.”

The golden light he’s gotten a bit too used to seeing encircles Blaise’s wrist, and they both stare for a few seconds before they grin at each other. Despite the seriousness of the situation, they’re both already slowly getting tipsy and there’s an undeniable sense of secrecy and shared confidence that makes the whole thing feel more exciting than it probably should.

He lies back down and considers where he’s supposed to start. “Ever heard of Horcruxes?” he finally says, and of course Blaise didn’t, and from there it goes.

Of Voldemort not being dead, of Regulus discovering the secret behind it, of earlier policies and plans and wars, of side-effects of splitting one’ soul and of faked prophecies. The disastrous night of Samhain 1981, of different options, of Voldemort’s wraith and Quirrell and the stone, of a diary and an insane plan, and of guilt and regret and doubts. On to a summer filled with self-loathing and hearing about his parents, of visiting Godric’s Hollow and finally getting back on track, only to plunge himself into another unhealthy coping mechanism.

When he finishes talking, his throat is sore despite a constant supply of Firewhiskey, he feels wrought out and there’s a faint pounding in his head, and he’s slightly wary to look at Blaise until he nudges him and wraps his hand around Hadrian’s wrist.

A look at Blaise shows him that he’s smiling crookedly, his eyes slightly glazed but serious, and he says, “Well, I’ve always known that you’re insane, but I couldn’t have come up with this if I had three more bottles of this. But either way, I kind of get what’s going on with you – I mean, I’m not saying that I understand because that’s just… not possible, probably. But as far as I’m concerned, it all makes sense. Your plan as much as that you’re doubting it, especially after…” he grimaces and trails off, but he doesn’t have to say more, and Hadrian turns his hand to squeeze Blaise’s back.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and he’ll swear that the roughness of his voice merely comes from his tedious monologue.

There’s a small part of him still feeling guilty because he left out anything concerning Death. He jumps when that voice suddenly rings through his by now seriously muddled mind. _“You should tell him. If you come clean, do it thoroughly. It will make everything much easier.”_

A soft groan escapes him before he can stop it, but he ignores Blaise’s question for the time being. _“Are you sure?”_ he asks instead, the focus on the mind-link ridiculously difficult.

_“Yes, you can trust him just as much as Regulus.”_

Well then.

“You ready for another banger?” he asks, plucking the bottle out of Blaise’s hand who, by now, is lying next to him, and groans in response.

“Can’t get much worse, right?” he eventually mutters, and Hadrian laughs.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Blaise groans again and buries his face into Hadrian’s shoulder for a moment before he pulls himself up, one hand on the backrest and obviously struggling. He would laugh, but he can’t be bothered to move at all; his limbs are heavy, and he has a strong suspicion that his head would spin if he tried.

“So?” Blaise asks, and Hadrian laughs at the desperate attempt to look focused. Blaise throws a pillow at him that he’s sure the room only just provided for that purpose.

“Alright, so,” he starts, only to realise that he has no idea how to explain this. “You know what? I’d rather show you. Wasn’t my idea, anyway.”

They don’t have to wait long until Death materialises in front of the hearth, and even with the lack of a visible face, Hadrian swears he’s radiating exasperation.

Blaise scrambles next to him and he catches him with an arm around his waist before he can fall to the floor. “It’s alright, he’s – well, he’d probably hit me if I called him something as plebeian as a friend. Let’s go with companion. Or maybe, slightly unhinged fairy godparent? Anyway – Blaise, meet Death.”

“Oh Salazar. Merlin and Morgana. Are you trying to give me a heart attack before I turn twenty? What – _how?”_

He’s pretty sure that he’s never seen Blaise this stumped but to his credit, he seems more disbelieving than scared.

“I really don’t feel like another hour of talking so – he’s the reason I survived Voldemort’s attack, and he’s been around ever since. He’s how we know about the Horcruxes and how I knew about the stone and Quirrell and – come to think of it, basically, it’s like having the sight. Or just, you know, an all-knowing, all-powerful entity looking out for me. I don’t know either what I did to deserve this, but let me tell you, he _can_ be rather annoying, so I think it’s fair to say that it comes with a price.”

“Maybe you should slow down with the Firewhiskey,” Death remarks dryly, but he sounds mostly amused, while Blaise starts laughing. It’s a little hysteric, and his hand is still curled tightly around Hadrian’s wrist, but all things considered, he’s taking this remarkably well.

“You know,” Blaise says when he calms down, “My mum told me about the old legends, but I always thought them to be just that – legends. Figures that you would be the one to prove me wrong.”

Death tips his hood. “Well then boys, I’ll be off again. Have fun.” With that, he disappears, and Hadrian is left with a still overwhelmed Blaise, who’s shaking his head at him.

“Please tell me that this is the height of your madness?” he asks, and Hadrian grins, takes a sip, and hands him the bottle.

“For now, sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love writing those two idiots. <3
> 
> Also, can I just say that the Canon-planning of classes, especially the electives, doesn't make any sense? Because it doesn't. At all. 
> 
> Last but not least - I'd love to hear your guesses on Har's Patronus-form. I've known what it's going to be before I even started this story and there's a hint in the early chapters, but yeah. Let me know! :D


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your feedback! <3

The first thing Hadrian becomes aware of is a fierce pounding in his head, and that it’s way too bright, wherever he is.

A groan escapes him and he rolls over, frowning to himself when he’s met by something warm and solid. It’s only then that he notices the heavy arm thrown over his middle, and he takes a moment to actually think about what happened last night.

Quidditch training, Blaise dragging him off – his eyes fly open, something he regrets immediately as the sharp light sends stinging rays of pain through his head again, and a wave of nausea hits him.

Right. Firewhiskey. It explains not only why he feels like he’s been run over by the Hogwarts express, but also has some difficulties to recall the details of last night. After a few minutes of lying still and keeping his eyes shut, the worst of his discomfort abates and he risks cracking one eye open, slowly, taking in their surroundings.

The room mostly looks the same as it did last night, but the couch shifted into a large bed at some point and he raises an amused eyebrow at the realisation that they’ve obviously ended curled up together.

Blaise is still sleeping, his face buried in Hadrian’s shoulder and one foot hanging off the bed; he just considers sleeping for another hour or two when his gaze falls onto the grandfather clock that’s standing in the corner of the room, and his eyes widen.

“Shit – hey Blaise, wake up,” he mutters, and simultaneously sits up slowly, careful to not move his head too fast. Shaking Blaise has more of an effect, and he has to hide his grin at the disgruntled, sleepy expression. “Sorry, but – it’s past lunch and there’s a high chance that people are already searching for us, seeing that we didn’t return from Quidditch training last night.”

Blaise groans and turns his head to hide his face in the pillow, but eventually, he gives a long-suffering sigh and pulls himself up into a sitting position. It’s accompanied by a grimace, and he presses his fingers against his temples.

“I should have asked my mother for two hangover potions in addition to the whiskey,” he grumbles, and it at least finally answers Hadrian’s unasked question of where he even got the alcohol from in the first place.

It also reminds him of something else though, and he manages his first actual smile today. “Dobby!”

The small elf immediately pops into the room and looks between the two of them with wide eyes and barely hidden confusion. Hadrian ignores it, absolutely not in the state of mind to explain any of this, and says, “Dobby, can you go to Grimmauld’s Place and get us two hangover potions, breakfast, and coffee? Tell Regulus it’s for me if he asks, yeah?”

Dobby’s eyes light up and he nods. “Of course, Master Hadrian, Sir! Dobby will do so right away!”

He sighs softly when Dobby pops away; no matter how fond he has become of the small elf, his voice is still hard on his sore head.

“Didn’t you say we’re late already?” Blaise says dryly, already getting up and looking for his shoes.

He tilts his head in confusion until it occurs to him that among all the things he’s told Blaise last night, he didn’t mention the time-turner. “That’s true, but I think the fact that you got me sloshed with firewhiskey until I couldn’t see straight is a rather good excuse for forgetting for a moment that time is… a relative concept,” he says with a smirk and watches in amusement as Blaise frowns, obviously trying to make sense of this.

“Are you sure you’re sober again?” Blaise eventually asks, lips twitching as he looks at him critically.

“More or less,” he says with a shrug. “But I’m quite sure that a time-turner will be a good solution to our problem, so there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have breakfast first, right?”

Blaise snorts, but when Hadrian only looks at him expectantly, his eyes widen and he plops down on the bed again. “How in Salazar’s name do you have a time-turner?”

Before he can answer, Dobby pops back into the room and they both wince at the loud sound, which is followed by a relieved groan when Dobby hands them two potion vials.

“Master Regulus told Dobby to tell Master Hadrian that he shouldn’t think that he’s going to get a hangover potion every other weekend and that he awaits an explanation, Sir,” Dobby says, and he looks utterly apologetic and uncomfortable as he does.

“Don’t worry about it, Dobby,” Hadrian says with a smile. “He’s mostly joking. But I promise this won’t become a habit.”

Dobby nods, shoulders more relaxed again, and after he deposits two trays with breakfast on the table that’s still standing in front of the fire, pops away again.

He doesn’t waste another moment to get some coffee, and sighs in contentment at the first sip, raising a brow at Blaise when he catches his impatient look.

“Time-turner?” Blaise says, shaking his head at him, but he’s grinning and mirrors Hadrian’s reaction when he gets a mug of coffee.

“Seriously, I don’t even know why, but – Snape gave it to me at the start of term, it’s the only way for me to attend all the electives. He said it’s a rarely used rule. He had to file a request at the Ministry, and I only got one because my grades are so good and, I quote, I don’t really get into trouble,” he explains, and can’t hide his own grin when Blaise snorts at the last part.

“Well,” Blaise says after a moment, “That explains your weird disappearances, at least. Let me guess, you’re not allowed to tell anyone?”

He bites back another wince because he remembers thinking that he’s going to tell Blaise about it on the first day of term, and then he never did.

“It’s not an accusation,” Blaise says, and he sighs softly to himself. Sometimes, he feels like his friends and family are just a tad too understanding.

“I wanted to tell you, though,” he brings himself to say and summons the plate of sandwiches over to himself.

“You did now, didn’t you?”

He only hums, and for some time they fall into companionable silence until Blaise clears his throat and shifts next to him on the bed.

“I want to meet him again,” he says, and his voice is weirdly controlled.

When Hadrian looks up, Blaise’s eyes are so full of determination that he frowns. “Who are you talking about?”

He can see Blaise swallow, but he doesn’t hesitate to say, “Death.”

It’s just his luck that he was just taking a sip of his coffee, and he chokes and coughs until Blaise flicks his wand at him. “Are you – I mean… Sure, why not?”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Blaise says, amusement colouring his tone but he’s frowning, and it occurs to him that it might not only be wariness but also insecurity if he even wants Blaise to meet Death again.

“I’m mostly surprised that anyone wants to spend much time in his company. Don’t get me wrong, it’s terribly interesting and I learn a lot and he’s surprisingly funny but – you know, it’s _Death_. Not the kind of entity people usually want to meet,” he explains, grinning slightly and leaning back against the headboard.

The potion, food, and coffee are already doing their job and he finally feels more alive than dead again.

Blaise returns his grin and shrugs. “Well, I’m not most people, am I?”

“That you aren’t,” he says solemnly before he can’t stifle his grin any longer. “I’ll ask him, we usually meet once or twice a week for practising spells and such, I’m sure he’s fine with you joining. We can combine it with picking up our own training again.”

“No wonder you’re as good as you are, with Death as a mentor,” Blaise grins over the rim of his mug, and he just shrugs unapologetically.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he says after a while, his fingers fiddling with his sleeves and he doesn’t manage to hide his frown completely. It’s something that’s been bothering him for a while, and somehow it feels like, as long as they’re still here, in this room, sharing secrets is easier, safer, and inexplicably less daunting than it usually seems.

Blaise nods, watching him curiously.

He swallows and forces himself to meet his eyes. “Your Boggart… I’m not going to ask why it’s me, but – why _that_ way of dying? And – I mean, I’m just wondering, it’s kind of specific like it is with mine, the Dementor and all that.”

Blaise’s eyes get a far-away look and his shoulders are tense, while his hands turn the empty mug over and over.

“You don’t have to – “ he starts, but stops when Blaise gives a sharp shake of his head.

“It’s fine,” he says and draws a deep breath before he meets Hadrian’s eyes again. “I’m sure you know that my mother is infamous for her many husbands and how all of them died under mysterious circumstances?”

He waits until Hadrian nods hesitantly, and his voice is flat when he goes on. “It’s not only a rumour – obviously.” There’s a fleeting, bitter smile but it’s gone so quickly, he’s not sure it was really there. “There’s a Muggle poison that’s untraceable – or well, maybe it wouldn’t be with magic, but you know how the magical world is with considering anything Muggle seriously.”

Hadrian suddenly has an idea where this is going, and for a moment, wishes that he wouldn’t have asked; not because he doesn’t want to hear this, but because he doesn’t like putting Blaise through the memories. He doesn’t say anything though, just presses their shoulders together and waits until Blaise goes on.

“When I was eight or nine years old, she had a husband for a comparably long time. It was also the first and only time she introduced me to him, and I actually liked him. One day, my tutor left early, and I went off to find the two of them. I knew I wasn’t allowed in their wing of the manor, so I only peaked through a gap in the door to the sitting room, to see if they are there,” he says, all of it silently and with so little emotion that he could be reciting Binns curriculum.

He can hear him swallow, but before he can even think of something to say, Blaise continues. “I saw him die, and she was just… standing there, watching, completely dispassionate. I only left when she finally moved, and I never told her about it. I’m not sure she knows, but – I just thought for the longest time that it’s my fault because I didn’t say anything or… Of course, that’s stupid and doesn’t make sense, but then again, Boggarts rarely do,” he finishes with a wry, exhausted smile, and Hadrian just wraps an arm around his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after some time. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Blaise nudges him and then sits up straighter. “It’s fine. After everything you’ve told me, and well – if I didn’t want to tell you, I wouldn’t have,” he finishes with a grin. It still looks a little forced, but he lets it be.

“Alright then. You’re ready for a bit of time-travelling?”

* * *

After that night, Hadrian is careful to organise his time better. He still goes back the five hours to repeat the first half of his day, but he skips the nap in favour of fitting in more of his own projects. He also leaves his homework for the afternoons again when he can do it together with his friends.

He quickly realises just how much he has missed them; the discussions with Milli and Theo that would be endless if Blaise didn’t put a stop to them at some point, playing chess against Daphne until he feels like his head is going to implode with one more strategic thought, helping the twins with their pranks, and quietly talking with Neville and Tracey while tending to the Greenhouse.

As promised, he and Blaise pick their training back up, and he takes him along to some of his meetings with Death, which turns out to be much more rather entertaining than expected. The only other time he has the chance to see someone interact with Death is with Regulus, who is just a little too used to the strange and odd due to his work.

But Blaise is completely out of his depth. It’s not that he’s exactly scared – he just doesn’t seem to have any idea how to interact with Death, stumbling over titles like ‘Sir,’ and being overly careful with the spells they learn.

To be fair, it’s probably a rather big difference if you get introduced to an almighty entity at four or thirteen years.

Neither Hadrian or Death mention it, though; they’ve talked about it after the night in the Room of Requirements, and both came to the conclusion that time is probably the only thing that is going to make it easier.

He’s currently walking down to the Greenhouse with Neville because he promised to help him with some re-potting, when they come across a girl that’s sitting on the ground, barefoot and apparently trying to get a thorn out of her skin.

She looks up when they approach her, and it takes him a moment to remember from where he knows her. “Hey, you’re Luna, right? Luna Lovegood?” he says, coming to a halt a few feet away from her.

“Oh, I didn’t know if you’d remember me,” she says, and she sounds as airily as she did the first time. “I know your name. And who is your friend?”

“That’s Neville Longbottom,” he introduces, eyes flickering back to her feet. “Is there a reason you’re not wearing any shoes? Don’t get me wrong, do what you like, but I’d think it is a bit cold in the middle of October,” he says, the way his hair whips around his head in the cold wind only emphasising his point.

Luna just shrugs though and smiles softly. “The Nargles took them. It’s not too bad though.”

“But you’re hurt,” Neville says, nodding towards her foot that is still resting in her lap. “Do you need help? I know a spell for that – you know, because I like Herbology a lot and these kinds of things tend to happen sometimes.”

Hadrian smiles at the back of Neville’s head, but his mind is still occupied with Luna’s odd statement; she has already mentioned creatures he’s never heard off the last time he interacted with her, and while it has completely slipped his mind up until now, he does recall that they were also used as an explanation for an inconvenience.

He doubts that she’s going to outright tell him though, and just resolves to keep an eye out for her.

Neville has just shown her the spell and is helping her back up, and she gives both of them a smile. “Thank you, that was very kind. I’m going to visit the Thestrals now, I’ll see you around!”

“You can see them, too?” It’s out before he even thinks about it, which is unusual in itself, but even more so now – nearly nobody knows that he can see them and for good reason.

Luna just nods though and keeps smiling up at him. “Yes, my mum died when I was nine. But I like them a lot, so it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly; that’s the second time in so many weeks he wishes he wouldn’t have asked but, just as Blaise did, she just shakes her head and waves him off.

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, I just remembered – this is for you,” she says, and pulls out a roll of parchment that’s tied with a bow.

He frowns, but when he sees the loopy handwriting, it turns into an exasperated groan. Not that he wasn’t waiting for Dumbledore to call on him, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

When he looks back up, Luna is watching him with an expression that seems to say that she knows exactly why, and how much this annoys him, but he dismisses the thought just as quickly as a bout of typical Black-paranoia.

“He has a lot of Wrackspurts too,” she says with a solemn nod, and then she turns and skips away into the direction of the forest.

He watches after her before shaking himself out of it – he’s going to make sense of it eventually.

“What is it?” Neville asks when they pick up their way to the Greenhouse again, and Hadrian quickly skims the parchment before he answers.

“Dumbledore wants to see me, oh big surprise,” he mutters and vanishes the note with an annoyed snap of his fingers.

“Any idea why?” Neville asks with a sympathetic look over his shoulder, missing the keyhole of the door a few times due to his lack of attention.

Hadrian waits until they’re inside. “Probably Wizengamot-stuff. I’m kind of sure that he’s going to tell me how to handle my seats and votes.”

Neville sets down one of the large pots with a little more force than necessary, and Hadrian raises an amused brow at him. It’s not that Neville doesn’t know a few things about his personal problems with Dumbledore, starting with being left at the Dursleys, but he mostly listened and rarely gave away much of his own thoughts on the topic.

That was during first year though, and Neville has come a long way, evident in the way that there’s honest indignation on his behalf visible in every line of his posture now.

“That’s not even his _job_ – not even if you didn’t have a family to advise you. Then it would be Snape’s job or, bloody hell, anyone but our headmaster!” Neville exclaims, gesturing so harshly that he throws around some of the soil in the process.

He pushes himself off from the counter he’s been leaning against and carefully pulls the pot away from Neville for the time being. “Thanks, Neville,” he says quietly and squeezes his shoulder for a moment. “And I know. I’ll let him know that and if he keeps bothering me, I’ll demand to have Sirius or Regulus present. I’m mostly annoyed that he just doesn’t seem to get the message to leave me alone, and I also can’t be too antagonistic, unless I want him to watch me even closer.”

Neville sighs and wrinkles his nose, and then pulls the pot back to himself. “I know. I know you can handle yourself it’s just – my grandmother doesn’t approve of him much, either, and she sometimes lets things slip. Anyway, is your initiation into the Wizengamot the reason why you’ve been so busy the last few weeks?”

This brings him up short because while he knows that probably none of his friends missed that he’s been barely around the first month of school, nobody but Blaise has ever mentioned it directly. He shoves away his first impulse to go with the excuse Neville has just offered him; it would be easy, but he doesn’t really want to lie and now that he actually thinks about it, it occurs to him that out of all his friends, Neville might understand best what he’s been going through.

“No, not really, though it did start in the Wizengamot,” he finally says, and gets his own pot and a batch of Puffapod seedlings to occupy his hands with while he talks. “You know how at Lockhart’s trial I had a run-in with a few Dementors?”

Neville shoots him a look but only nods in response.

He takes a steadying breath and keeps his eyes fixed on the small flowers in his hand. “Apparently, my worst memory is my parents’ death. My mother’s in particular.”

It’s impossible to miss the sharp intake of breath next to him but he quickly keeps talking. “And I mean I never… I don’t know, I never really mourned them, I just… kind of pushed everything related to them as far away as possible. I don’t want to go into too much detail, but it all caught up to me over the holidays, and when we came back to school I just… buried myself in work, to avoid thinking about it.”

It’s weird that it’s still so very hard to talk about this; mostly, it’s a fear of pity because he just knows that it’s something impossible to deal with for him, but deep down he’s aware that it’s also because, no matter how many years he’s living with Regulus now, has found friends and family, there’s still a, albeit small, part of him that doesn’t want to trust anyone, and revealing something this private is much harder without a vow or firewhiskey, or in the direct course of an actual breakdown.

“You know,” Neville’s soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and when he glances at him out of the corner of his eye, there’s a sad smile tugging at his lips, “Your mother was my godmother, actually.”

For the second time this afternoon, he’s speechless for a moment. Now that Neville mentions it, he remembers the will of his parents and the name Longbottom on the list of possible guardians, he just never thought about it after they’ve managed to get Sirius out of Azkaban.

“I didn’t know that,” he says and presses their shoulders together. “But your mother was my godmother, too, I think. We could have grown up together.”

Neville smiles at him and while it’s still a little sad, it’s also unmistakable fond. “Imagine that. My grandmother would have lost her mind.”

Hadrian snorts softly, and they’re silent for a while.

“One day, we’re going to avenge them. We’re going to make those who cost us so much pay.” Neville’s voice is hard and full of conviction, a far cry from his usually calm demeanour and Hadrian has to bite back a wince.

It’s not that he doesn’t understand the desire, not at all. But it’s a reminder that there are people he has come to love dearly who are most likely going to turn their backs on him when they find out what he and Regulus are planning to do. And he’s sure that it’s a ‘ _when_ ,’ not an ‘ _if’_.

It also is a rather harsh reminder of the state of things between him and Tom, because didn’t he basically threaten him with exactly that? The person most afraid of death, and he went and told him that his life is in his hands.

And he doesn’t feel any remorse, exactly; as far as he’s concerned, he has every right to be angry. But maybe not with the 16-year-old version of the person he’s actually angry with, and maybe he should finally confront the whole matter, come to think of it.

He jumps when Neville touches his shoulder briefly and forces a smile. “Sorry, I was… Yes, we will. Thank you, for listening and – and I think they would be proud of us.”

“I hope so,” Neville says, voice back to quiet and his hands busy with carefully planting the seedlings.

* * *

He has barely enough time to change his clothes and wash his hands and face before he has to leave for Snape’s office; after all, there’s no way that he’s passing on his right to have his head of house present.

Snape looks like he was expecting him and that assumption proves to be true when he just nods and gestures for him to follow.

“Do you know what this is about?” Snape asks him, his voice bored and his eyes only lingering on him for the fraction of a second.

Hadrian is careful to keep his own face equally impassive; it’s kind of astounding to him that they’ve managed to keep their comparably good relationship a secret for so long but getting careless now would just defeat the purpose. Especially as they’re on their way to the exact person who shouldn’t know.

“I have a strong suspicion, but nothing certain,” he says, and Snape only gives a small nod.

They’ve reached the Gargoyle by now and stay silent until they enter the office.

Dumbledore gives a small sigh when he sees Snape but only gestures for them to sit.

“Is something the matter, headmaster?” Hadrian asks as soon as he takes the chair, still remembering his resolution to keep Dumbledore from offering him sweets. It’s petty, but he thinks that the attempt to get _some_ fun out of this is rather fair, all things considered.

“Nothing serious, my boy,” Dumbledore says with a smile and steeples his fingers together on the table. “I merely want to offer you some assistance.”

What a surprise. He takes a slow breath and smiles. “And what would I need your assistance with, Sir?”

Dumbledore bows his head, smile still firmly in place, and says, “Of course, I’m perfectly aware that you have no need for an old man’s assistance in most of your endeavours, but I think in this regard, it might be useful.”

Flattery, how creative. Sometimes he wonders what it says about him that he’d prefer the direct approach over the sweet-talking and riddles, and he also wonders what it says about Dumbledore that he always chooses the latter.

He doesn’t say anything though; no matter how much he prefers one way over the other, he’s been a Black for long enough to know how this works; questions and remarks that are meant to get the other person to reach their point more quickly will only draw it out more.

The silence stretches, and he can see the minuscule frown flicker over Dumbledore’s face before he straightens up. “You know, taking up your family seats is a serious responsibility, especially with your heirship of several houses. There are many things concerning the Ministry, the Wizengamot, and the intricate workings of both that are impossible for you to know about and keep in mind, especially as you’re also still very young and should have time to enjoy yourself.”

Well, that sounds nearly sincere; nevertheless – “Thank you for your concern, Professor. I appreciate it but I assure you that my family is of the very same opinion and will, therefore, take great care that I won’t overwork myself and still be able to make informed decisions.”

Only the insistent tapping of one long finger against the desk gives Dumbledore’s annoyance away, and he smiles innocently. “After all, Sirius is my proxy and if I remember correctly, he was in your former house, wasn’t he? I’m sure you can see how there’s a good… balance of different opinions and influences for me to form my own on.”

Snape gives a small cough and he bites the inside of his cheeks; it might be a bit bold, but it’s not like Dumbledore doesn’t know exactly what kinds of people the Blacks are, and he doesn’t think that denying it would do him any favours.

“That may be true, but I’m sure you can see how Sirius’ knowledge and experience are different from my own.”

“You mean because he was in Azkaban for ten years, innocently?” he asks dryly before Dumbledore can go on, and he hopes that he doesn’t need to add the _‘while you were Chief Warlock and did nothing about it, not to mention that you were responsible, so really, is your advice that good?’_ out loud for Dumbledore to know that it’s implied.

If the increasing tension in Dumbledore’s shoulders and around his eyes is anything to go by, he heard the message. Hadrian keeps smiling innocently.

“Well, and because I do have more experience, especially in the delicacies of voting in the Wizengamot. Sometimes, the most obvious answer is not the best one, especially in your position. I only want to make sure that nobody attempts to exploit you,” Dumbledore says gravely, and no matter how kindly he smiles, all Hadrian can hear is a sweet lie at best, or a threat if he’s really, really paranoid.

Thank Merlin he isn’t – he doesn’t think Dumbledore would actually harm him in a direct sense, and he’s wary of everyone he doesn’t know, anyway. Even more so when it’s in relation to his influence.

“Thank you, but I’m certain that I’m fine,” he says, and watches as Dumbledore’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“I’m not sure you understand – “

“Professor,” he interrupts for the second time, and that’s really a habit he should get rid off. “With all due respect, I thank you for your concern but my whole family, as well as those of my friends who, as you know, come from different houses and backgrounds, are involved or have experience in politics. And to be frank, it is rather uncommon for the headmaster to advise his students in these issues – even if they are the boy-who-lived.” He doesn’t manage to hide his sneer at the title completely, but it’s not like it matters.

“On top of that, I actually do read and research a lot and most of my decisions are made on my own, on the basis of knowledge, not influence,” he goes on. “Sirius or other people might offer me different views, but in the end, the decision is always mine, so I’m rather certain that it’s going to be hard for someone to exploit me, even if someone who is close to me would attempt something as despicable as that. Which I’m sure they don’t. Now, if that’s everything? I still have to prepare a few things.”

Dumbledore is silent for long moments, his eyes boring into Hadrian’s, and he tenses on instinct but there’s no feeling of Legilimency being used. Interesting.

“Yes, that will be all, Mr Potter-Black,” Dumbledore finally says, and his tone is several degrees colder than a few minutes ago.

He bows his head and gets up after Snape. “Thank you for your time, headmaster,” he says, and then leaves the room as quickly as is proper.

Snape only speaks when they reach the dungeon. “You’re only going to be able to play the over-confident, unconcerned teenager for so long. He’s getting suspicious.”

Of course, Snape would pick up on that. “I know,” he sighs, then flicks his wand to throw up a Silencing Charm. “But my only alternative would be to play by his rules, and then I’d have to completely act like someone I’m not. And what is he going to do – watch me closer? He already does as much as he can.”

Snape watches him for a few moments before he says quietly, “Don’t underestimate him,” and he wonders how the man manages to make that sound so threatening.

He walks through the common room without really taking notice of anyone, and when he reaches the empty dorm, gets out Death’s book and shuts himself away behind his curtains.

He doesn’t know why the urge to talk to Tom is so strong at this moment; he doubts that it’s only due to his earlier resolve. The quill hovers over the page for a long time, but eventually, he grits his teeth, draws a deep breath, and writes into the diary for the first time in months.

**Hello, Tom.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is later than usual! Unfortunately, real life is a bit of a bitch right now and I probably won't be able to keep updating once a week for the foreseeable future. 
> 
> BUT! As I'm obviously a bit of a masochist, I'm currently organising a Regulus Black Fest!! (Who would have thought.)  
> Right now, prompting is still open.  
> You can find the rules [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ms3IKMDEfPEjUcYXhEIbywxqUdvVl12KLAVudNGaMco/edit?usp=sharing/), and the prompting form [here](https://forms.gle/KMoGBPaGKjH5LLuE9/). And [this](https://regulusblackfest.tumblr.com/) is the tumblr for the fest!  
> (You can leave prompts without needing to create anything for the fest! <3)
> 
> On a different note: Thank you all so much for guessing Harry's Patronus last chapter - I'm not going to tell, but nobody guessed correctly, and only one person came close. :D There were a lot of Basilisks, Grims and Thestrals, which I _love_ and considered for some time buuut yeah. It's going to be a surprise (and I'm not ridiculously excited to read your reactions. Not at all. _*cough*_ )


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